


This is How a Dream Comes True

by hecateandhoney (LiveLoveLikeMe)



Category: Shrek (Movies), The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Dragons, F/F, Hicsqueak, Romance, Shrek AU, two idiot witches in love and their trusty apprentice mildred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLoveLikeMe/pseuds/hecateandhoney
Summary: Hecate is a witch with a plan.  Rescue Princess Pippa from the tower for Lord Hellibore and get the entirety of Cackle's academy off her swamp.  Not even having Mildred Hubble as an apprentice can get in her way.  There's just one tiny problem-- something must be wrong with her magic to make it burst through her chest so vibrantly at the sight of Pippa.The Hicsqueak Shrek AU none of you asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am SO excited to start this new story journey. None of you (except the ever wonderful Yessi) asked for a Shrek AU, but guess what? Thanks to Amanda's brilliant singing as Fiona taking over my life, now you get one. I hope you have as much fun along this as I've had working on it so far!
> 
> And while you're here, please head over to @yesdilex on twitter (https://twitter.com/yesdilex/status/1002754442041708546) She has created some absolutely STUNNING moodboards of this AU. It is our child, so please show some love to her as well!

_Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, lived a witch.  She had a small cottage at a swamp in the woods, where few dared to enter, lest they be gobbled up or turned to toads—or so the legend told.  She brooded away her days, mixing potions, wandering off through the trees in search of children to add to her big bubbling cauldron._

_In another kingdom, perhaps a little further away, lived a princess.  Locked high in a tower, guarded by a dragon, and surrounded by lava, she was a dream come true for every young knight out to prove himself.  Time and again, they failed to succeed, and so she remained locked away, waiting for the day her true love would come and set her free._

 

* * *

 

Hecate locks her muscles into place, needing total concentration in her quest to extract the liquid from an eye of newt in just the right way.  One false move—she’s learned the hard way—and it will end up everywhere but the inside of her cauldron.  She has no interest in ruining yet another black dress.  So carefully, with as much controlled precision as she can muster, Hecate sets about steadily piercing it at just the right point to avoid—

_BAM!  BAM!  BAM!_

Squirting herself.

A sigh of the utmost displeasure curls through her lips as she drops the offending object to her table and swivels towards the door.  She has eye juice on her forehead, but that’s less pressing than the knocking that seems to only grow louder with every frantic pound.

There are two kinds of visitors Hecate gets, and neither are particularly welcome. 

The first, and arguably least threatening, are teenagers.  They usually come alone, shaking head to toe, on some dare to go see the witch, or steal one of her socks, or a bat wing, or any number of frankly ridiculous things to prove their bravery to their friends.  Sometimes Hecate takes pity on them, gives them a temporary pig’s tail or turns them green.  Harmless stuff that wears off, really, but it usually keeps them from trying again.  Other times they’re already running away before she’s fully opened the door.

The second are the ones with fire in their eyes, and sometimes on the ends of their torches as well.  They come with raised voices and accusations.  She’s been blamed for everything from an ingrown toenail to eight months of drought—as though Hecate would ever waste her magic on those so hostile against it.  Sometimes she simply waves them away with the flick of her wrist, transferring them to some other part of the forest.  Sometimes she stays still and lets them yell.

She flicks her fingers and the door slams open, just the way she likes.  Frustration is still pumping through her, ready to strike at the unlucky soul who has dared to interrupt her delicate potion process. 

Hecate blinks, a little surprised by the sight of a small girl, no older than ten perhaps.  She doesn’t often see children in her part of the woods, for parents warn them off with stories of how she’ll eat them, cook them into stews in her big black cauldron.

Hecate’s always scoffed at the stories.  As if she’d ever use her cauldron for cooking.

She clicks her tongue, taking in the fearful eyes before her, the way the girl tugs anxiously at her braids, and waits for the worst.

“Please help me!”

It’s not what she expects, and Hecate blinks slowly as though to clear her mind better.

“They’re coming, I need to hide, please!” the girl begs, practically bouncing in her doorway, eyes flitting nervously around.

The sound of shouting in the near distance reaches her ears, making Hecate wince.  She’s all too familiar with the mobs that spew from nearby villages.  It’s a foolish idea to let this strange child inside her home, but she knows that fear in her eyes, knows the wrath of these men, and it makes her stomach churn.

Spurred on by a sudden momentum, she grabs the girl by the shoulder and tugs her in, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Get in that closet and stay very quiet,” Hecate orders briskly, wasting no time.  One or two men might avoid her home, but a mob will consider it a bonus outing.

The girl, trembling, does as she’s told. 

No sooner has she shut the door behind her than does another knock sound from outside, this one booming.

Hecate takes her time, clears the throat, rolls down her sleeves, and straightens her spine.  She summons a handkerchief and wipes the eye juice off her brow.  If they want to interrupt her with some foolish child hunt, she won’t make it easy. 

“Can I help you?” Hecate asks with her best menacing glare as she flicks the door back open.  There’s at least a dozen men, some angry, but all a little frightened by her blatant display of magic.  She feels it build in her, thrilled, and stands blocking her own doorway like a gargoyle.

A man she presumes to be their leader steps forward, trying to match her stare but failing.  Hecate grits her teeth.

“There’s a girl oo‘s run away.  She’s real dangerous, see.  Don’t suppose she’s come by here?” he snarls.  There’s a distinct odor to him that makes Hecate hold her breath as he speaks.

“Hmm,” she pretends to think, “Not that I recall.  It has been a while since my last meal, so I think I’d remember?” she says with frown. 

The man before her blanches, taking an unsteady step back towards the group. 

“Witch!” one of them calls out, like it should insult her.  Hecate merely lifts a brow in challenge.

“Is that all you’ve got?  Pity.”  She clicks her tongue.  “I thought we might all have a girls’ night in.  Oh well.  I suppose I’ll still need someone for dinner, since apparently I missed a child coming through.”  Hecate’s barely lifted her hand in threat before they’re dispersing, screaming as though on fire as they tear through her swamp, disrupting some pondweed she’d been planning to harvest later.  She frowns mournfully at it, waiting until she’s sure they won’t come back, then returns inside and shuts the door behind her.

For a moment, Hecate closes her eyes and leans back against it, allowing the fear she’d pushed aside to wash over her—allowing her legs to tremble.  She’s done this a hundred times, but she’s never without the risk that one day, they might challenge her threats.  They might truly try and do her harm, might force her hand to fight back against them.

As it is, speaking is hard enough.  She can’t recall the last time she’s said something kind, the last time there’s been anyone to say something kind to.  She talks to the frogs sometimes, but they’re wretched company.  Her own voice sounds weak upon her ears, quiet from the years, if not a bit chilling.

A shattering thump echoes from inside her closet, and Hecate’s eyes snap open as she remembers the child still hiding inside.  Tiredly, yet guarded, she steps a few feet away from her door and flicks it open.

In the few minutes stuffed inside, the child has well and truly made a mess of her supplies.  There are smashed jars all over the floor, brooms hanging every which way, and in the middle of it stands the girl with the untied shoes, fiddling with her braids.  Hecate sighs deeply and beckons her forward.

“Carefully, don’t cut yourself on the glass,” she warns tightly, waiting until the child is trailing something green and slimey all across her floor before going over and inspecting the damage herself.  She cringes at the sight.  “It’s going to take me weeks to repair the stores you’ve ruined.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles quietly, at least properly ashamed of herself.  Hecate makes quick work of it, muttering a spell to make sure the cleaning is done thoroughly.  Mixing potentially volatile ingredients all across the floor is not a risk she takes lightly.  Her gaze shifts to the girl, and the mess her shoes are making all over the rest of the place, and does another quick cleaning spell.

Then, as a final touch, she wiggles her nose and watches in satisfaction as those blasted shoe laces tie themselves.

Finally, Hecate can breathe.

“Well then—“

“Mildred.  Mildred Hubble,” the girl supplies.

“Mildred Hubble,” Hecate repeats, finding the name odd on her tongue but nodding.  “What exactly have you done to make such angry men wish to hunt down a little girl?”

Mildred looks forlorn at this, and were she not currently invading Hecate’s home, she might feel a little sad for her.

“The thing is.  Well, you see…”

“Today, Mildred Hubble.”

She takes a deep breath and stands a little straighter.

“Mrs. Olsen can’t afford to house me any longer, and she heard the crown was offering gold in exchange for magical creatures, so she brought me to market to sell me off,” Mildred admits.

“And how exactly did she propose to pass off a little girl as a magical creature?”

“Well, she may have lied a bit.  She sort of told them I’m a witch.  But I’m not a real witch.”  She pauses to frown, and Hecate almost fools herself into thinking she’s actually sad she’s not.  “At least, I don’t think I am.  Mum would know better than I would.”

“And your mother is this… Mrs. Olsen?” Hecate asks, trying to put the disjointed pieces together.

Mildred shakes her head so quickly she almost crashes into Hecate’s clock.

“No!  I don’t know my Mum.  I mean, I guess I used to when I was little, but she had to leave me with Mrs. Olsen.  I don’t think she meant to be gone so long, really.   Mrs. Olsen said something bad must have happened, but I think she’s wrong.  She’ll come back when she can.”

It’s unlikely, Hecate thinks, but she doesn’t want to quash the girl’s hopes.  Not when she’s standing here in front of Hecate—in her home no less—like it’s perfectly safe and normal.  Like she’s unafraid of Hecate and what she might do.

“I see,” Hecate says instead, sniffing and clutching at the timepiece around her neck.  “And how did all of this lead to you being chased?”

“Ahh, that part.  Well I sort of tripped over this bucket of pixie dust and floated around a bit.  It was an accident, I swear!  But someone noticed and the next thing I knew, someone else was yelling about burning the witch.  So I just sort of ran and I didn’t know where to go, but I saw the swamp and remembered hearing stories about you, so I hoped you’d be home and you were.  Thanks for that, by the way.”

Hecate blinks anxiously, unused to being thanked, and by a child no less. 

“You sought me out for… safety?” she asks, voice rising on the last word, finding it utterly improbable.

“Everyone says you have magic.  You do, don’t you?  That’s what you used to clean up, right?”  Hecate begins to worry.  Something’s wrong—Mildred looks positively excited at the prospect.

“Shouldn’t you be running away in fear of the child-eating witch?” she asks briskly.

Mildred simply rolls her eyes and then—in a complete moment of boldness that Hecate will strain herself over for years to come—makes herself right at home on Hecate’s couch.  And giggles.  “You don’t really eat children,” she says matter-of-factly.

Hecate purses her lips, tempted to refute the statement.  She has a reputation to uphold, after all.  Mind, a reputation she abhors, but at times it’s kept her alive at the very least, and she’s not apt to lose her protection.  She can’t quite bring herself to take away the little semblance of trust she seems to have gained, though, and she doubts very much Mildred would believe her regardless.

“I do not,” she concedes.  “However, it is foolish of you to be so certain.  Has no one taught you not to enter the homes of strangers?”

Mildred shrugs at this.  “Not really, no.  Besides, you can’t be worse than them.”  And really, Hecate cannot argue with that.

“Right, well.” Hecate clears her throat. “You can wait another hour, if you wish.  They should have given up by then I should imagine.”

“An hour until what?”

“Until you take your leave, Mildred Hubble.”

She swears Mildred looks sad at this, but shakes it off.  Even if the child is deluded enough to wish to stay in her presence any longer than that, Hecate is not a caretaker.  She hardly has any practice around others, let alone children.

“I have to leave.  Of course.”

Mildred looks close to tears, and it makes Hecate so uncomfortable she thinks she may try and claw her way out of her own skin.  Then almost more frighteningly, Mildred’s frown turns to a mischievous smile, and suddenly those big brown eyes are looking up at her like a small animal might.  It pulls at something odd, and she doesn’t like it.

“About that…” Mildred begins, playing with her braids again.

“I feel I’ll regret this deeply, but what about it?”  Hecate feels a headache coming on.

“It’s just that, I think it’s the bats that you’re a real witch.” Mildred beams.

“You… do?”

“Oh yes!  I only saw a little, but it’s like I can taste your magic.  It’s so lovely!”

Hecate finds herself speechless, unused to anyone other than herself finding a positive side to her cursed nature.

“I know I’m not special like you, but I was thinking that maybe you could teach me?  I could be your apprentice!  I promise, I would try so hard.”

Hecate tries to still her face, but she’s sure some of the shock must slip through.  “Hardly.  Being a witch is the greatest honor the Goddess can bestow upon us.  Do you even know what a witch is?  What a witch does?” Hecate drawls with perfect enunciation, crossing her arms and looming over Mildred in a way that surely must be threatening, but the girl only flinches slightly.

“Well, magic.  But I could learn potions!  And, erm, gather stuff?  And… sweep?  Someone has to replace all the stuff from those broken jars,” Mildred tries.

Hecate can only scoff and tighten her face.  “A witch makes things go her way.  And right now, you are _in_ my way.  Do you understand?”

She thinks she’s finally settled the matter, possibly even succeeded at scaring the girl away from trying to return for good.  But it seems she may have a penchant for underestimating Mildred Hubble.

“Then I’ll just have to make myself a witch!” she declares triumphantly.

Hecate truly wants to pull her hair out, and thinks she might, if only she hadn’t put it up in a bun this morning.

She’s never heard of someone born without magic being able to harness it, and Mildred doesn’t exactly seem like the sort to succeed even if it is possible.  Yet, she can’t deny, it would be useful to have someone around to replace her stores.  The stores Mildred broke, she reminds herself, wondering how many other disasters the girl might bring her way if she gives in and lets this actually happen. 

“What about your family?  Surely they would not approve.”

“I don’t have one, remember?  Not that I can find, anyways.  I’m all alone.  I don’t have anyone.”

And damn it, Hecate doesn’t know how she got herself into this position, but she knows that face, knows those feelings.  She’s been that child alone in the world, just trying to be herself, to stay alive long enough to learn how.  She may not know children, and she thinks Mildred will likely make a horrendous witch, but she knows turning her out on her own crosses a line.  It’s cruel, and Hecate is many broody, huffy things, but she is not a cruel witch. 

Hecate knows she will grumble and curse herself to eternity for every day she is stuck with this child under her care—she hardly chose for her to come here, of all places—but there’s really only one answer that doesn’t make her a monster.

And contrary to what everyone else seems to believe, she is no monster, and never will allow herself to become one.

Hecate grits her teeth.  “Fine.  You may stay here as my apprentice… on a _trial_ basis only.  One misstep and I will personally see to it that you end up in the nearest orphanage I can find.  Is that clear?”

She thinks she’s been properly firm, that Mildred will be just frightened enough to stay out of her way while she figures out how this can possibly work.

She thinks very wrong.

Suddenly two lanky arms are tight around her waist, the force of the child suddenly upon her nearly knocking Hecate off balance.  She freezes, unsure what do so as Mildred _hugs_ her.  It’s so appalling, she can’t think.  Finally she manages to grasp her shoulders and yank her back a proper distance away.  She’s fuming, but Mildred hardly seems to mind. 

“I promise I’ll be the best apprentice, I won’t let you down!”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Hecate quips.  “Let’s begin with rule one—there will be no hugging of any kind.”

Mildred still smiles up at her.  “I won’t.  Thank you, Miss…”

She stares up at Hecate, who for her part stands and blinks down at her, giving nothing.

“Erm, what’s your name?”

Hecate sighs.  She’s been ‘the witch’ for so long, she’s unused to people asking or caring to find out.  Only a handful of people probably even know it now.  But she supposes she needs to give her something.

“You may call me Miss Hardbroom.”

“Then thank you, Miss Hardbroom!  I really do mean it.  You’ll hardly even know I’m here—I’ll be such a good apprentice, and I’ll work hard.”

Hecate’s right in assuming she’d come to regret her decision, but she never assumed that regret would come so quickly.

By dinner time, Hecate’s already at her wit’s end.  Contrary to Mildred’s assertion that she’ll hardly be noticed, she never stops chattering, and asking questions, and in her rare moments of silence, knocking Hecate’s things all over the place.  She finally confines her to a chair, assigning her the relatively simple task of peeling potatoes for their dinner. 

“Why do you live in a swamp?” Mildred asks, the hundredth of a constant stream of questions about Hecate’s life.

She fights down the urge to snap steadily building inside her and continues cutting carrots, considering just how much she’s comfortable revealing about her living situation.  “The best potions ingredients are here.  You’ll learn how to collect them soon enough, so long as you do so with care.”

“Cool!” Mildred exclaims, dropping another potato to the floor.  Hecate sighs deeply, finishing up her carrots and moving over to help the child with the rest.

“I suppose.  It’s also quiet.”

“It must be nice to be away from everyone,” Mildred says dreamily.

“It’s necessary.”

Mildred looks up at her thoughtfully, and Hecate feels herself regretting the admission.  She does like her swamp.  It’s a comfortable, safe part of her routine.  She wouldn’t give it up now, even if she could.  But that doesn’t mean she’s always felt the same about it. 

“You’d rather live in the village?” Mildred asks innocently.

Just as Hecate’s about to tell her in no uncertain terms that she’d rather do anything but live near the insufferable village fools, there is a loud bang and a whoop of glee outside.

“So much for quiet,” she grumbles.  She thinks this interruption must somehow be Mildred’s fault.  She doesn’t yet know how, but it feels too strange to be a coincidence.

“What in Merlin’s name?” Hecate says to herself as she looks out the window.  Her entire swampy lawn is crawling with young witches, most zipping about on broomsticks, a few setting up tents and fires.

She thinks she might be overdue for a stroke.

“Cool!” Mildred exclaims from beside her.  She’s not sure when the girl followed, but she doesn’t stop her from running to the front door and throwing it open.

“Oh, hello dear!” a familiar warm voice rings from the doorway.  Hecate doesn’t have to look to see who it is—which is a small blessing, considering she feels rooted to the spot, watching all the little witches run amuck and destroy her cattails.  “Is Hecate in?”

“You mean… Miss Hardbroom?” Mildred asks.

“Ahh, yes, that would be her.  And you are?”

“Mildred Hubble.  I’m her apprentice!”

“That’s wonderful!  Is she around by any chance?  I’m afraid I have some pressing matters to attend.”

“Miss Hardbroom!” Mildred yells, as though she isn’t several feet away.  She flinches, but it pulls her out of her reverie, and Hecate manages to stomp her way to the door.

“Well Met, Ada,” she says sharply, bowing in greeting to her old mentor.

“Well Met, Hecate,” Ada returns.

Truth be told, Hecate has enormous respect for Ada Cackle.  A slightly older witch, there had been a time when Ada took Hecate under her wing, helped her hone in on her powers and skills as a witch when she was not much younger than Mildred and found herself alone in a swamp.  She’d gone on to start a school for witches like Hecate, to give the young girls a safe place to learn magic. 

A place, she thinks, she might be able to pass off Mildred Hubble to.

A place Mildred will love much more than Hecate’s swamp.

Hecate’s mood instantly lightens and she smiles.  “What can I do for you, Ada?  Would you like to come in?” 

Ada smiles gratefully.  “Mind your manners, girls, I’ll only be a moment!” she calls outside, before following Hecate and Mildred to the seating area by the fire.

“Tea?” she offers, already magically heating the kettle.

“Yes, please.  And a biscuit, if you have any.”  Ada smiles.

“Mildred?” she asks, because she’s suddenly feeling generous.

Mildred nods eagerly, and soon all three have tea in their hands, two of them supplied with small plates of oat biscuits.

“I assume you’re responsible for this… frivolity terrorizing my swamp?” Hecate asks, cutting right to the chase.

Ada blushes and nods, swallowing a bite of cookie.  “I do apologize for that—I promise to repair any damage they cause.”

“Are you all witches?” Mildred asks, a gleam in her eyes.

“Yes, dear.” Ada says, smiling warmly down at her.  “I must say, Hecate, I think it’s wonderful that you’ve taken on an apprentice.  I always have said you have the gift to teach.  It’s a shame you won’t reconsider my offer to come work at Cackle’s.”

“Yes, well, I’m quite busy here with Mildred.  She’s shaping up to be an excellent young witch,” Hecate lies, shooting Mildred a look to stay silent.  If she wants Ada to take her off her hands, she needs to fudge a few details.  It’s not really lying—for all she knows, maybe Mildred really will manifest magic from sheer force of will.

Ada looks positively tickled by the news.  “Oh, Hecate, I’m so pleased to hear that!  It’s never done you good to spend so much time alone.”

Hecate frowns at this, pointedly ignoring Mildred’s muffled giggle, and is about to say something when another loud bang sounds from outside.

“Girls!” Ada yells, but it’s too soft.  “What have I told you?”  She sighs and sinks further into her chair.  “I’m sorry, Hecate.  It’s been rather hard on them, I’m afraid.”

“What exactly is going on, Ada?” she asks, feeling her patience dwindle further at the thought of the newest damage she doesn’t wish to see.

“Lord Hellibore finally managed to get us evicted from the school castle.  I don’t know what to do!  Some of the girls could be sent home, but most have nowhere to go.  I promise, we won’t impose on you for long, Hecate.”  Ada looks close to tears.

“You plan to stay here?” Hecate is almost certain her eyebrows have reached her hairline.

“Just for now.  We’ll leave as soon as I figure out what to do.  I couldn’t think of anywhere else safe enough to take them all.  You don’t mind, do you, Hecate?  The remainder of my staff should be arriving shortly with the rest of our things—once they’re here, I’m sure the girls will be much better behaved.”

Hecate strongly doubts that, but there’s little she can argue with.  Ada Cackle is the closest thing she has to family, and she knows she’d never turn Hecate away if she sought shelter.

Another smashing sound makes Hecate jump, jostling hot tea over the rim of her cup.

Just as she cannot turn Ada away, she also cannot live this way.  One addition to her life is already too much.

“Right, that settles it.  You may set up your camps and spend the night, Ada.  One sleepless night won’t kill me.  In the morning, Mildred and I will go to Lord Hellibore and get your castle back,” Hecate insists matter-of-factly.

“We are?” Mildred asks, bouncing in her seat rather nauseatingly.  “Cool!  How are we going to do that?”

Hecate has absolutely no idea. 

“As I told you, Mildred.  A witch makes things go her way.”

Mildred nods, like she’s in awe of Hecate, as though she’s the moon and stars herself.  She tries not to flush at the feeling.  It’s unfamiliar, and she won’t do well to get used to it.

“Hecate, if you truly mean that, I will be in great debt to you for it,” Ada says.  Hecate thinks happily that she knows exactly the favor she’ll call in, and by the next moon she’ll have her solitary life back to normal.


	2. This is How I Pictured You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO VERY MUCH to everyone who has been so kind and supportive of this story so far. I know it seems like an unusual concept for an AU, but I really feel it somehow fits them so well, and I'm glad others agree. I have such a fantastic journey planned out.
> 
> Shoutout to my Shrecate and Fippa co-parent @yesdilex over on twitter. She's been making so many wonderful edits, moodboards, and videos of this AU. You should all absolutely go check them out.

It’s early when Hecate awakens Mildred the next morning, which is a miracle in and of itself.  A bit of a moon witch, Hecate has always preferred to do most of her work under the cloak of night.  She takes it as a sign of her own desperation to get her peaceful life back that she rises with the sun on this particular morning.

The entirety of Cackle’s academy surrounding her little cottage remain silent, still sound asleep after their adventurous day, but Mildred awakens with relative ease for her.  How the child can have so much energy in the morning, Hecate does not know, but she makes easy use of it by putting her to work gathering things, and when Mildred gets a bit too chatty, she hands her a nice sticky bowl of oatmeal to keep her mouth busy.

All and all, Hecate thinks she’s probably not in the best of moods for a negotiation, but what she lacks in feelings of diplomacy she easily makes up for in determination.

She will get her swamp back.

“How far of a walk is it?” Mildred asks as she’s lacing up her boots.  Hecate is relieved to see her taking care to do them properly this time, but grimaces at the question.

“Walk?” she tests the word like a bad taste.  “I shouldn’t think so.  The village isn’t too far, I can simply transfer us there.”

Mildred pauses, laces dropping from her hands, forgotten, as her mouth falls open.  “W-with magic?”

Hecate sniffs, avoiding the urge to roll her eyes.  She twitches her nose again, content when the forgotten laces knot themselves firmly.  “Is that a problem, Miss Hubble?  I was under the impression that you were keen on learning magic.  If you’ve changed your mind, however…”

“No!” Mildred leaps up, still managing to stumble in spite of her carefully tied laces.  She rights herself quickly and smiles widely up at Hecate.  “I’ve just never seen anyone do that before.  We just poof there?”

Hecate does not contain her groan this time.  “Rule number two—refrain from assigning silly words to very serious magic.  I’m not a fairy, there is no… poofing.  I will transfer our persons from one location to another.”

Mildred nods.  “Will I be able to learn to do that?”

“That’s doubtful,” she scoffs.

At the girl’s crestfallen look, Hecate wavers, then adds, “Very few witches have mastered the skill.  It takes immense concentration and control even to transfer a short distance.”

“You must be really powerful then,” Mildred says after a pause.  Hecate has to look away, unused to seeing admiration pointed her way from anyone but herself.  It’s a peculiar feeling, and she’s not yet sure if she’s keen on it.

“Are we to stand here chatting all day, or may we go now?” Hecate asks, desperate to change the subject.

Mildred has barely said yes and pulled on her backpack before Hecate is on her side, twisting her hand and bringing them away from her slowly awakening swamp.  Darkness surrounds them for a fraction of a second as Hecate fills herself with the smell of the forest and the sounds of a village beginning the day.  Her vision clears as the ground caresses her feet, neatly depositing them both at the edge of the tree line nearest her preferred entrance.   

She takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes, just catching the smell of freshly baking bread wafting from a nearby bakery.  Hecate sighs and prepares herself—Mildred will surely be impressed with her abilities after such a smooth display—and turns to face the girl.

Instead she finds her headfirst in a bush, getting ill.

She has the decency to look embarrassed when she straightens up—as she should, for ruining Hecate’s impressive moment—so Hecate wordlessly summons a water canteen from the bag she’d given Mildred to carry and hands it to her.

“That can happen when you’re unused to it,” she supplies to fill the uncomfortable silence.  Hecate rarely puts herself in situations where she’s made to feel uncomfortable if she can avoid it.  It seems having a child around comes with many unavoidable conflicts to that philosophy of life.

Like now, when she’s left facing a child who’s just been ill, and has no idea what she’s supposed to do about it. 

“I’m fine, thanks,” Mildred supplies, holding up the water canteen gratefully.  Hecate can breathe again.

“Right, let’s move then.  Follow my lead.  People will stare if they notice me—look no one in the eyes, speak to no one, and do not let your mind wander.  It’s best to be on high alert.”  Hecate begins to carefully pick her steps forward, avoiding any brambles catching the edges of her long black dress.

“Isn’t it just townspeople?”

“They can be the most dangerous.”  She doesn’t explain, nor does she take the time to ensure Mildred is following.  The girl can figure that out for herself, if the mob from the day before wasn’t telling enough.  If they’re lucky, Mildred won’t find out what it means to walk these streets with a witch.

“Why don’t we just po— _transfer_ to the house we’re headed to?”

“It’s a castle and heavily fortified.  They’ll sense the magic, and I’d rather not give them any undue warning to try and stop me.  Now, quickly, there are cloaks in your bag.  Remove them and put one on yourself.”  Mildred does as she’s told, and Hecate follows suit.  Hooded cloaks are hardly a foolproof protection, but they’ll help.

“Now.  Whatever happens, follow my lead and stay behind me.  Do you understand?”

“It’s really that dangerous?”

“That is not an answer, Mildred.”

“Yes, I understand.  But—”

Hecate doesn’t wait for her to repeat her question.  It’s hardly dangerous given her magic, but it is a risk of unwanted attention.  She doesn’t mind being feared—maybe even enjoys it just a little—but when that fear turns to something else in their eyes, something darker, it unsettles her.

And there’s another part of her—a tiny, minute part that she’s loathe to admit aloud—that doesn’t want Mildred to see them look at her like that.  It’s new to be looked upon as impressive, and she dislikes the idea of bringing that enchantment to an end sooner than necessary, even if it is unnerving.

They slip down a side street and into town, moving along the walls to slide in and blend with the bustle, but Hecate pauses as she nears the street.  Mildred crashes into her from behind, but she holds her tongue, peering around her hood in confusion.  Something’s very wrong.

It’s early still, but the town streets are always full of life during the week.  Now, there’s nary a cart in sight, and people are almost as sparse.  She spies a few—mostly shopkeepers setting up for the day, a couple of travelers on horseback packing up—but there’s none of the usual hustle going on.

“Stick close, Mildred.  I don’t like this.  These streets shouldn’t be so empty,” Hecate says lowly.

She makes a quick pace down the cobblestone, eyes peeled, directing their path towards Lord Hellibore’s castle uneasily.  She’s less sure he’ll be there now, but loathe to abandon the comfort of her plan. 

As they near the castle, Hecate begins to pick up on an increasingly loud cheering.

“I think it’s coming from here,” Mildred says, pointing past the castle towards a ceremonial open air arena.

“Is it any day special?” Hecate asks, confused as they head in that direction.  She loses track of the village calendar sometimes, having no reason to partake in it.

“I don’t think so.”

They’re silent again, and Hecate takes the silence to assess herself.  Closer now, it’s clear why the streets are so empty—it seems the entire village has gathered here for something. She puts a finger to her lips in warning to Mildred, then slips in alongside a small crowd of onlookers standing at the center railing.  All around them, the raised seats are stuffed to the brim.

She looks down at the lowered field—it’s littered with an assortment of knights.  Rather more than a few of them are farmers’ sons in outdated battle wear, Hecate wagers. 

But most interestingly, at a raised podium along one side of the arena stands just the man she’s come to see—Lord Egbert Hellibore.  And he’s just begun a speech.

“Now, as you all know, I have decided it’s time I marry.  Tragic news has reached me that there is a princess long in need of a rescue mission,” he begins, wooing the crowd with his dramatics.  “Princess Pippa has been trapped, cursed in a high tower, guarded by lava and a fire breathing dragon.  Many have tried and failed—that shall not go on any longer.  I consider it my greatest responsibility to rescue her, and bring her to safety so we may wed.  Of course, with my duty to you all here, I can’t go myself…”

Hecate barely contains the urge to roll her eyes.  She’s had just about enough of this male nonsense.

“Which is why I have gathered you all here for a grand tournament to decide who shall have the honor of being my knight to rescue the Princess!”  There’s a loud, foolish cheer that overtakes the arena.  He smiles, flashing his teeth and motioning for calm, though Hecate suspects he’s enjoying their cheers far too greatly.  “Now, some of you may die, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

She’s definitely had enough.  If they all want to kill themselves in an attempt to appease this lazy man, well, Hecate’s never been opposed to natural selection taking its course.  But she has pressing needs—her swamp is overrun by young witches with no sense of control.  The violence they’re all seething for can wait.

Hecate has every intention of marching right over and telling him as much, but a guard none-the-wiser to the power beneath the cloak, crosses his arms and blocks her path.  With a huff, Hecate takes Mildred by the arm and leads her to an empty seat in the stands. 

“Stay here, and whatever happens, do not interfere.  I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Hecate orders, barely making sure Mildred’s even heard her before waving her hand.

In seconds, she’s down at the center of the arena, gasps echoing around her as she pushes back her hood and stands tall.  She ignores the way their murmurs make her back prickle with unease.

No one dares approach her, nor speak her name, as Hecate crosses her arms over her chest and meets Lord Hellibore in the eyes. 

“We have something pressing to discuss.”

She waits, watching as his face turns white, then red.  “The witch!” he finally sputters.  “How dare you come here and interrupt the fun of these good people.”

Hecate doesn’t hold back the eye roll this time.  “All men are fools, but you, Lord Hellibore, are their… well, not quite king,” she quips, pausing to let it sting.  “I’m not interested in your slaughter fest.  By all means, continue as soon as we’ve discussed my business.”  Her voice stays firm and level, but it’s clear his temper is only rising as he shouts down at her.

“I HAVE NO BUSINESS WITH YOU, WITCH!”

Hecate’s hands clasp her pocket watch—the only visible sign of her discomfort.  There are too many angry men now. 

“I believe you already know exactly what business you have with me,” she challenges, feeling none of the courage she exudes.  There is a sense of rash violence swarming around her, ready to strike. 

“The rules of the tournament have changed—kill the witch to be named winner!” Lord Hellibore bellows.

Hecate freezes at the words.  Some are already brandishing their swords, others grabbing for torches ready to burn her.  It’s worse than their usual mobs, and she thinks her entrance might have been a mistake.  She’d meant to force his hand, hold up his proceedings until he gave the school back.

The only thing worse than a mob of angry men is that same mob with thousands cheering them on.  They forget to be afraid—they see red, see a monster, and aim to destroy with a courage outside their own sanity.

Hecate stiffens at the sound of Hellibore’s laughter.  She can’t simply transfer away—she’ll never get her audience with him if she does.

The men will never leave her alone if they think she’ll only run.

Her fingers itch, eager to cast, and a protective shield surrounds her.  Their blades bounce easily off the sides, but it’s a temporary fix at best.  They can’t destroy her, but she can’t proceed, and the stalemate does nothing more than give her time to think.

There are perhaps forty of them surrounding her—no small feat, but nothing above her skill either.  Hecate loathes using magic against the non-magical, doesn’t wish to cause even these men harm, but she wants to make them feeble, weak enough for their cowardice to return.   She wants their shouts to cease.

Hecate closes her eyes and concentrates, flicking her hand in a circle around herself, and silence falls.

The weapons clatter to the ground, the fire smothering out in the dirt.  It seems, to the stunned audience, that she’s simply made them disappear.  But Hecate lowers her shield and smirks, looking down at the forty odd snails that now take their places, and picks one up to show the crowd in a silent victory. 

In a silent demand that they keep their distance.

There are screams, but none make a move to approach her, and she replaces the snail to ground, grimacing at the slime left behind on her palm, quickly summoning a fresh handkerchief to herself to wipe it off.  She takes her time cleaning up and steadying herself, then steps closer to Lord Hellibore’s podium, careful to avoid the snails in her path.

Her eyes look up in challenge to him, ready now for her audience, and for a moment he stares right back, gears turning visibly.  He grabs his microphone at last, clearing his throat and glaring right down at her.  Hecate holds back a grin of satisfaction at her victory.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he begins, “Our champion!” 

Hecate drops her handkerchief as silent fear erupts around her into sudden enthusiastic cheers.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she cries.  Because she’s not, in any way, going to be his champion. 

“You defeated the strongest men in my kingdom with barely a breath of energy—if anyone is equipped to rescue my Princess, it is you!” he shouts, egging the crowd on further.

“You seem to have forgotten that I have no interest in your silly rescue party.  You evicted the staff and students of Cackle’s Academy, and now they’ve taken up residence on _my_ swamp.  You will give them back their school,” Hecate orders sternly, trying to ignore the people now chanting _Witch!_ with unbridled glee.

“Yes, very well,” he begins tiredly, “if you’d rather your prize be that, so be it.  But only when the Princess is here safely in my hands.”

Hecate thinks she’d rather not subject anyone to his hands.  “Or, I could simply turn you into a snail as well if you don’t acquiesce right now.  You have plenty of knights foolish enough to rush into danger for you as it is.”

He smirks unexpectedly, making Hecate shiver.  Her threat shouldn’t make him pleased.  “I had a feeling you might say that, but I think my argument’s a little more persuasive.” 

A guard comes forward from the shadows of his raised platform, knife brandished at the throat of a young girl with a familiar set of braids.

“You foolish girl,” Hecate snips under her breath.  There is a panic tight in her chest at the sight of Mildred Hubble with a blade to her throat, but she doesn’t linger on it.

“Let her go, the child has nothing to do with this,” Hecate says, trying to ignore the irksome wavering in her voice.

The smug look on his face only grows at her reaction.  “Oh, but I think she does.  I think she’s the key to your obedience, witch.”

“I have no attachment to this child,” Hecate scoffs, “do what you wish to her.  It changes nothing.”  It’s a bluff and they both know it—she only hopes his threat is just as big of one.

Because Hecate could vanish the blade, but the longer it remains there, the more apparent it is to everyone that she hasn’t.  Truthfully, she’s frightened to take the risk.  The mass snail transmogrification has left her shaky, and to remove the blade without sliding it is a task of great concentrated precision—something Hecate feels slipping away from her under the shouts of the overwhelming crowd. 

“Well, if you’re sure then.”  Lord Hellibore signals to his guard, and there’s no mercy in those eyes. 

His arm has barely tensed to begin his slaughter before Hecate hears her voice shouting, “Wait!”

Hellibore signals him to still.

“Release the girl, and return Cackle’s Academy to Ada Cackle, and I will do it.”

She hates the words as they leave her lips, but this Princess can fight him off herself if she wants.  Loathe as she is to admit it, Hecate can’t stand the thought of allowing harm to fall on her newest nuisance of an apprentice.

“You’ll do what?” Hellibore taunts, wanting her to say it.

Hecate clenches her firsts and forces out, “I’ll be your champion.”

“Then release the girl, Alfred, and upon delivery of the Princess, I shall tear up the eviction notice and return the school to Ada Cackle as your prize.”

And just like that, she is trapped, bound to this merciless quest under the hand of a man in a way she swore she’d never again let herself be forced—but Mildred is free and running down the steps towards her, and she’s certain it’s the only right choice.  The agreement has been struck by the sound of the crowd’s cheer, and with this many to witness the terms, he’ll never easily go back on his promise to return the school.

In a few days, she’ll be free again, and all can go back to the way it should be.

Hecate looks around at the snails and sniffs in distain.  They’ll return back to their unfortunate human forms in the next day or so, but she doesn’t offer that information, and Lord Hellibore hardly cares enough to ask.  She flicks her fingers and summons several heads of lettuce to fling about the arena floor for them, and nods in satisfaction.  A guard tries to hand her a map, but she spooks him away with a deadly raised brow. 

She may be an outsider to the village now, but she’s no stranger to the stories she grew up with.  If the legend is true after all, she knows well enough where the Princess must be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hecate says nothing to Mildred until they’re well and truly away—barely spares a glance at her even.  Truthfully, she’s afraid of the damage she might find if she does.

“I shouldn’t have brought you there,” Hecate says, already moving swiftly around her cottage to gather materials for their journey.  “You should stay here with Miss Cackle while I handle this.”  Miss Cackle won’t bring a child right into a village full of dangerous men who wish her dead. 

“Stay here?  Oh, please Miss Hardbroom, can’t I come?  That was the bats!” Mildred exclaims, breaking her silence and jumping giddily around her front room.

Hecate nearly drops a bottle of healing balm in shock at the outburst.

“That was dangerous.  You could have been seriously injured.  Now sit,” she orders.  Mildred plops down gracelessly on the couch, legs swinging and a smile on her face, though notably subdued.  Hecate pulls one of her braids aside to appraise the damage.  There’s a red mark on her neck where the blade was, but it doesn’t appear to have broken the skin.  She quickly slathers on a bit of the balm just to be safe.

“What does that do?”

“It heals.”  Hecate sets the balm aside and grabs Mildred awkwardly by the shoulders to still her and check her over properly.  “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, I’m fine,” Mildred chirps back, smiling up at her almost shyly.  “I’ve really never seen anything like that—I can’t wait to learn magic.”

Satisfied she hasn’t been otherwise injured, Hecate pulls her hands back and sharply stands, grabbing at her timepiece for something to do with her fingers.  She hates how worried she’d been.

“How can you be all right from that?” Hecate asks, beginning to pace in frustration. 

“I wasn’t scared, I knew you’d protect me,” Mildred says, like it’s that simple. 

“How can you have possibly been so sure?”

“You did yesterday.”

Hecate pauses.  She had protected her, yes, but hiding a child in her closet was quite different from an active rescue.  She’d all but told Lord Hellibore to slaughter the girl right in front of her, yet still she kept looking up at her with the oddest expression.

Hecate didn’t wish to think it could possibly be trust.

“Most people find me off-putting at best.”  Hecate frowns.  Nothing about Mildred Hubble makes any sense.

“Most people probably haven’t heard you snore,” the girl says with a giggle, looking sheepishly down at her untied shoe.

Hecate is certain her eyes reach her hairline as she reels back in shock.  “I do no such thing!”

“You do.  It’s kind of whistly and small, but I could still hear it out here.”

Hecate has to shake her head to clear it, because it sounds very much as though Mildred’s entire view of her comes down to the fact that she mistakenly believes Hecate to do something as human as _snore_.

“Snoring or not, that hardly makes a safe guardian out of me.  You could have been seriously injured I just… whatever possessed you to even…”  She’s pacing again, frustration she doesn’t even understand racing through her chest.  It doesn’t make sense that Mildred is fine with her, and it doesn’t make sense that she even cares so much what happened to her.  She’s a problem, an anomaly interrupting Hecate’s life.  “Never in my life have I dealt with such an utter disregard.  Magic has rules, and those rules only keep you safe when you follow them!  I can’t just vanish a knife any time you decide to disobey and get yourself caught.  A witch would know better!”

“I’m sorry you were worried,” Mildred confesses in a suddenly very small voice.  It snaps Hecate back to attention, and she stammers.

“I was not worried!”

Mildred meets her eyes, looking determined, and Hecate finds herself properly struck silent.

“As I was saying, I’m sorry you were worried, and I should have listened to you.  I just really wanted to help.  What you did was so cool!  I want to be a good apprentice, and instead I just keep letting you down.  It’s no wonder everyone keeps wanting to pass me off, I never do anything right.”

Hecate sighs and forces herself to calm down.  There is an urge there, just under her skin, to lash out.  She’s just shaken enough to let it slip, and she hates that Mildred can’t seem to let her be cross, but the one thing she’s always had to separate herself from the village monsters is the fact that she’s not a cruel person. 

Strict, always, even stern when necessary, but never cruel.

But the sadness on Mildred’s face is making her feel as though she’s coming close to it.

She sits on a firm wooden chair across from the couch and clasps her hands over her knees.

“You haven’t let me down, I’m just not sure this is a good idea,” she explains, leveling her tone.

Mildred, an intuitive child if nothing else, latches onto her weakness and quickly perks up.

“Please let me come!  I promise, anything you tell me, I’ll really listen this time.  Besides, you need my help,” she adds smartly.

“I do?”  Hecate is doubtful that’s true.

Mildred looks hesitant to explain, but at a raised brow supplies, “You’re kind of grumpy in the morning, you might scare the Princess.”

“Mildred Hubble!”

She’s not grumpy, is she?  Just perturbed by the brightness of the sunlight.

“And you’ll be so much more entertained with some company.”

Entertained may be stretching it, Hecate thinks.  Twice as busy, and yes, even worried, but entertained is not the appropriate word there.

Still, she’s not sure why she even bothered with the argument.  Just as she hadn’t wished to take on an apprentice, she hadn’t wished to further endanger the girl now, and the former clearly didn’t take a turn in her favor.

“I have a feeling I’ll regret this.”

And indeed, as soon as the words pass her lips, Hecate can’t believe she’s said them.

“I can go?  Oh, yes!” Mildred leaps up, spinning with unbridled joy.

It’s the second time Hecate’s made a child happy in as many days, and it’s too strange to dwell on.  She stands sharply and claps her hands together.

“Pack your things quickly, we need to be off.”

She makes to leave to her bed chambers, knowing the trip will be several days at best, but pauses at the realization that Mildred has stopped moving altogether.

“Uhm, Miss Hardbroom?” she asks quietly.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t have… what I mean is… do you think I could borrow… uhm…”

She had forgotten Mildred’s predicament, but watching the child fidget, she recalls that she’d arrived with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a small leather satchel. 

“Oh, right,” Hecate says awkwardly, “Nevermind that.  I’ll pack for both of us.  I’m sure I have some clothes I could charm smaller.  While I get ready, you can gather food.  My pantry is through there.”  She gestures to an oversized cupboard off the side of the kitchen.

“I can do that!”

“And Mildred,” she calls, already at her bedroom closet but sensing the worst.  “Do not pack sweets!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think, perhaps, the next chapter might get a little more... pink? 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Climbing in to Rescue Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with more! Major shoutout to Yessi for spurring me on with all her amazing edits and moodboards over on Twitter. So much of Pippa in this was inspired by her creations. 
> 
> I realized writing this that it would end up far too long if I kept it as planned, so I'll do my best to update a little sooner than usual. I can't wait to get to more of them already!

Hecate’s never been a fan of flying long distances.  She’s excellent at it, as with most things magical, but a simple transference spell has always been much more in line with her tastes.  It’s faster, less prone to weather-related interruptions, and there’s no wind to knock off her travel hat. 

Alas, the distance to the Princess is too far, and it’s with that in mind that she reluctantly accepts she’ll have to fly there to make any sort of decent time.  And somehow do so with Mildred Hubble tagging along.

She transfers herself and Mildred to a nearby clearing, leaving Ada with instructions to feed Morgana and protect her swamp from any undue harm while she’s away, and looks at the girl with thoughtful hesitance. 

“I usually fly alone,” Hecate says, clearing her throat.

“We’re going to fly?” Mildred’s eyes widen.  “Does that mean I get to use my own broom?”

Hecate pauses, nibbling her lower lip in thought.  Generally, that would be preferable.  It’s a rudimentary skill taught to young witches early on—even Mildred surely has enough magic in her to fly if she focuses long enough.  But a glance at her shoelace which is somehow, painfully, untied yet again gives Hecate second thoughts.

“I think, given the pressing need to make time, it would be best if perhaps we went about this differently.  It’s a long journey for an inexperienced flyer.  You can learn properly when we return and there’s time to train.”  Training from someone like the teachers at Cackles, she thinks, but doesn’t voice.  There’s plenty of time for that discussion later.

Mildred’s face falls a bit, but she nods, still looking far too excited at the prospect of this trip that Hecate only dreads. 

“So I’ll just ride with you?”

“Something like that,” Hecate muses, fingering the basket in her hand.  “I’ve given it some thought.  On several occasions I’ve needed to bring a significant amount of luggage with me to travel that was too temperamental to use the shrinking charm I employed this time.”  She pauses, holding up the basket already tied to a sturdy rope.  “So climb in.”

“Is that… safe?” Mildred asks, inspecting the basket that’s been padded with a blanket for comfort.  It’s not massive, but more than enough space for the small girl to sit contentedly.

Hecate lifts a questioning brow.  “Now you doubt your safety in my care?”

“Oh, of course not, Miss Hardbroom!  I didn’t mean that.  I just,” Mildred stumbles over her words, already grabbing the basket from Hecate’s outstretched hand to scramble in. 

“Just make sure you sit still.  And here,” Hecate pulls the bag off her back and tucks it into the space beside Mildred, who’s already sitting up far straighter than Hecate’s ever seen her.

She smirks as she turns back to gather her broom, careful not to let the girl see it, lest she get any ideas that Hecate’s going soft.

Soon they’re in the air, Hecate perched primly along her broom handle and a basket hauling one Mildred Hubble trailing along below her, secured by a reinforced rope.  All in all, it’s a smooth journey.  Sometimes the wind picks up, and though Hecate’s reluctantly left her pointy hat at home, she enjoys the way it drowns everything out.  In these moments, she cannot hear Mildred chattering on below, and almost feels like she’s gotten some semblance of her life back.

At other times, when the wind dies down or they stop to stretch their legs, she finds herself quizzing the girl on various magical herbs and plants.  She seems especially taken by Hecate’s explanation of the uses of a sunflower, which she feels a bit of pride in sharing.

Hecate won’t admit it, but it’s almost enjoyable.

Annoying, but not as horrific as it could have been.

And before she knows it, the sun is setting, and she’s not in the worst mood while making their camp. 

“It should only be a few more hours from here, but it’s safer to wait until morning when we can see.  I’ve only heard rumors of the castle’s enchantments, and I’m sure they’re exaggerated greatly, but I’d like to err on the side of caution,” Hecate explains, settling down on a rock around the fire she’s started. 

“I’ve been thinking…”Mildred says, trailing off in a way that makes Hecate’s stomach tighten with nerves. 

“Oh?” she asks in spite of herself.

“It’s just… why do you live alone in a swamp?”

Hecate stiffens and turns a glare on the girl.  “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“I just mean, Miss Cackle seems nice.  I’d give anything to have nice people to be around all day.”  Hecate raises a brow.  “I mean, I would have before I met you,” Mildred adds sheepishly.  “I just don’t understand, when there are other witches you could be with, why you’d want to stay alone in a smelly swamp near a bunch of people that don’t really like you?”

Hecate sniffs, trapped in the reality of Mildred’s words that she’s asked herself far too many times.  It seems so simple through a child’s eyes, but never through her own. 

“It’s much more complex than that,” she says, hoping to end the conversation, suddenly exhausted from her day of flying. 

Mildred, of course, can never leave anything alone.  “It doesn’t have to be.”

Hecate sighs.  “For your information, there’s a lot more to being a witch than people think.  Witches are like roses.”

“Sorry, what?”

Hecate fingers her timepiece and considers her response. 

“There are many different layers to our existence.  Nothing is as simple as just gathering with those who are _nice_.  Magic has rules that must be followed, and there are different ways of doing it.  It must be nurtured very carefully.  Each piece—each petal—feels personal to us.  Thorns only get in the way when magic tries to mix.”

Mildred ruminates on this quietly, and Hecate seizes her moment to gather herself and stand.  “Right, another early morning tomorrow,” she says with a grimace.  “We had better get some rest.”

“Okay,” Mildred says, holding back a yawn.  “But, Miss Hardbroom?”

“Hmm?” she asks, working to magically muffle the fire.

“Roses grow on shrubs together.”  When Hecate doesn’t answer, doesn’t quite make sense of what she’s getting at, Mildred continues, “So maybe you don’t have to worry about those thorns as much as you think.  Roses are strong.”

 

* * *

 

Hecate’s surprised, when they arrive at the castle the next morning, to find it looking formidable at best.  She’s heard all the horrific stories of death and dragons, but truth be told, had never actually believed them to such an extent, probably in part due to the way she’s watched everyone exaggerate her own actions into something monstrous over the years.

But this fortress before her has been undersold.  There are bones scattered about, and Hecate doesn’t wish to think about what they might have once been, does her best to steer Mildred’s gaze far away, though it’s of little help.

The rocky cliff they’ve landed on gives way to a sheer drop, at the bottom of which is a violent, churning red river of lava that makes her mouth taste like metal.  The sulfur from a nearby vent stings her eyes and burns at her lungs, making Hecate double over coughing, all the while clinging tightly onto Mildred’s sleeve to keep the girl still.  One wrong step could end disastrously, and her apprentice is like a cactus running through a field of balloons at her best.

“It sbells ligk rotted eggs,” Mildred says while holding her nose closed and grimacing. 

“That would be the sulfur—it gathers at some of these vents in the rock.  So mind your steps.”  She ensures personally that Mildred’s laces are tied, and indeed, may never untie again—though she expects that’s asking for too much from the Goddess.

Out of reasons to keep holding on, Hecate reluctantly loosens her grip and scans their surroundings.  The only way across the lava seems to be over a frankly horrifying old suspended rope bridge—something out of a nightmare.

“I’ll simply transfer us to the other side.”  She closes her eyes, waves a hand, and nothing happens.  The magic fills up within her and falls pitifully flat.  Hecate frowns.  “I am unable to depart.”

Mildred, for the first time, stops looking infatuated by their volcanic surroundings and turns her attention up to Hecate.  “Your magic won’t work?”

Hecate inspects her hands, as though they’ve betrayed her.  “No, I still can feel the magic.  It’s strong here—possibly even amplified by the opening in the earth bringing us closer to the magical reserves.  There’s something…” she closes her eyes and reaches out, feeling for a guide to tether her to what she suspects might be there.  Her fingers find it and clasp on, revealing what she can only sense.

“There’s strong magic in use here.  Preventative wards, I suspect.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means there’s a sort of… magical bubble surrounding the castle.  Whether or not it works inside, I know not, but it’s preventing me from using magic to cross the threshold of it,” Hecate explains.

The air is full of a hot, stifling steam, choking her the longer she stands considering her options.  Hecate almost regrets her usual choice of a long black dress.

“Can’t we just fly over to the other side, then walk across the bubble?” Mildred asks.

“Unfortunately not, I do not think it safe,” Hecate admits, wishing she could say otherwise.  Alone, she might have risked it anyways, but she can’t risk it when she needs to be responsible for another.  She feels a sense of duty.  “Brooms cannot fly safely over water.”

“That’s lava.”

“Yes, but all these vents have filled the air with steam.  It wouldn’t be advisable to risk that interfering with the magic of the broom to cross it.  Imagine if it should fail…” she swallows thickly, looking down into the flesh-burning river below.

“So we can take the bridge,” Mildred says with a shrug, like it’s an easy alternative. 

Hecate thinks she would rather just give in and let Ada turn her swamp into a new school.

But Mildred is tugging on her hand, forcing her forward, and before she knows what’s happening, Hecate has taken a step out onto the bridge.  It jolts under her weight, and she can’t contain her squeak of surprise, nor the way her legs shake as though ready to give out beneath her.  She freezes, resisting Mildred’s silent tugging to propel her forward, and thinks she might be ill.

“Miss Hardbroom, come on, it’s perfectly safe, see?” Mildred tries, bouncing a bit on a board to demonstrate its sturdiness.  Hecate’s stomach churns and she blanches.

“Mildred Hubble, still yourself this _instant_ you foolish girl,” she grits out between clenched teeth.

“Sorry.  I just think you’ll feel better if you keep moving.  It’ll be over before you know it,” Mildred chirps, slowly stepping further away.  Hecate, unable to reach out to clutch her now, grasps at the rope railings with white knuckles.

With each step she takes, the rope bridge sways, and Hecate looks to the sky with a silent plea to the Goddess to simply end her now. 

She manages to force herself forward after Mildred—slowly.  She can barely get her booted feet to cooperate, but she’s not Hecate Hardbroom for nothing.  She finds a rhythm, and slow as it is, she focuses on only the other side and getting to it.

At least, she does until about halfway out, when the bridge creaks threateningly, and Hecate foolishly, stupidly looks down.

The world sways around her, and she tenses her grip impossibly tighter on the rope, trying to inhale with as much depth as she can to try and calm herself down.  The fiery air has other plans, burning at her lungs yet again, making them contract in her chest.  Hecate coughs and sputters until her vision speckles black with need of oxygen, and she’s certain she’s finished right here in the center of this death bridge with only Mildred Hubble to witness her demise.

Until she hears a scream.

Hecate forces her eyes to focus ahead again, and they land on the sight of Mildred tripping over herself near the end of the bridge. 

“Miss Hardbroom, help!”

Sheer force of will propels Hecate forward, all thoughts of the swaying bridge and her equally swaying stomach pushed aside in her strides to get to Mildred.

She mutters under her breath about those damn shoelaces, and once she’s sure Mildred’s okay she is absolutely going to kill her. 

Mildred is sprawled out on her stomach face down, clutching the sides of the bridge.  From what she can see, the girl’s in no danger of falling, so she must be injured.  Hecate clenches her jaw and strides as widely as her wobbly legs will allow.

“Mildred, what’s wrong?” she barks when only a few feet remain between them.  Is she still breathing?

The girl suddenly jumps up, nearly sending Hecate off the side of the bridge herself in shock.  Mildred swivels on the spot and grins.  “I’m fine, just needed to get you moving.”

Hecate’s eyes widen and she sputters in disbelief.

“How dare you!”

Mildred rolls her eyes in a far too Hecate-like manner that infuriates her to her core, and grabs her hand without hesitance, yanking her the last few yards of the bridge.  Hecate continues lecturing her, but suspects the child is paying her no mind.

And she can hardly complain when she’s on land again, thanks to Mildred’s intervention.  Horrifying as it had felt.

Not that she would ever say as much to anyone.

“Are you all right?” Mildred asks, looking up at her flushed face in concern.  It’s startling.  Hecate feels like she should be the one asking that, like she should be holding it together as the adult, but she’s failing. 

All the more reason Mildred will be better off at Cackle’s when this ends. 

Hecate clears her throat and straightens her shoulders, pressing onward and ignoring the question.  She leers over the outside of the castle and tries to make sense of the towers.  Surely enough, one is notably higher than the rest.

“This way,” Hecate commands briskly, already heading to the large wooden door.  She feels the magical wards pass over her, breathing out a sigh of relief as it lets her pass through unharmed.  It’s odd, she thinks, to have an enchantment to stop only movement magic. 

She flicks her wrist in a test and the door creeks open.  So far so good.

Before she can stop her, Mildred runs in ahead, leaving Hecate to carefully pick her way over a pile of rubble.  The castle is old and crumbling, clearly held only together by the magic piping up from the ground around it.  There are aging footprints from her failed predecessors in the dust on the floor, which tickles Hecate’s nose incessantly and makes her sneeze.

It seems the entire castle hasn’t been cleaned in centuries.

All in all, she’s ready to grab the Princess and leave—a thought only amplified as she turns and comes face to face with a suit of armor, the helmet falling off to reveal the rotting skeleton inside.  She hurries along after Mildred, hoping the child hasn’t noticed.

“Mildred Hubble, slow down and stop making such a noise,” Hecate whispers sharply after her.  Mildred is exclaiming loudly as she runs through the rooms, excited by the abandoned royal relics. 

It’s not that Hecate believes there’s _really_ a dragon looming about.  Because she certainly does not.  But there’s something unmistakably dark about the place that even crumbling walls basking in open sunlight do little to deter. 

“Sorry,” Mildred pants, running up to her.  One of her braids has a spider web hanging from it.

Hecate’s traitorous nose twitches and she rubs it with a crooked knuckle, thoroughly done with the dust.  She tugs her cloak more tightly around herself and pulls up the hood as though to keep it at bay somehow.

With a heavy sigh, she looks at the mess Mildred’s already made of herself, and makes a quick decision.  Hand on her back, Hecate guides her over to an old chair, waves a hand to clean it off, and directs her to sit.  “Wait here while I get the Princess.  There’s something unsavory about this castle that I don’t trust, so I don’t want you getting into any trouble.  Is that understood?”

Mildred kicks her legs, making the dust she hadn’t thought to clear off the floor fly up and swirl into the air, aggravating Hecate into a sneeze once more.  She whines, barely audibly, but it’s there, and pinches the bridge of her nose.  “Please, Mildred.”

“Yes, Miss Hardbroom.  But what about the dragon?”

Hecate scoffs.  “There is no dragon, it’s just tale.  I’m sure whatever’s here is another ward.  Perhaps a fire wall.”  She grimaces at the thought and glares down at Mildred the second she sees curiosity building in her eyes.  “Which is all the more reason for you to remain here.  Do not even think about looking for it,” she orders sternly.

“I won’t.” 

She’s not entirely sure she trusts the promise, but it’s as good as she’s apt to get.  Hecate closes her eyes and casts a locating spell, humming to herself as she easily finds the path to the Princess.

“I won’t be gone long,” Hecate calls, already moving off in that direction.

The castle is quite more of the same the deeper in she gets, and aside from a few lanterns she has to light, Hecate finds her way easily enough.  It’s too easy, really, and as she reaches the bottom of a spiral staircase with no magical resistance, she has to wonder if the other brick has yet to fall, or if indeed no princess resides inside at all.

It does seem like an awfully abandoned, hazardous place to house one.

Hecate is reminded, as she climbs the winding steps, how much she absolutely _loathes_ staircases.  They hurt her knees, tug her dresses in all the wrong directions, and make her lungs ache with effort. To have the volcanic air back instead would be a luxury.  She curses the Princess under her breath for getting herself trapped here at all, and curses Lord Hellibore for forcing her into this horrid predicament, and curses herself for being too afraid to try a transfer on the off chance she’ll hit a ward and burst into flames like some unprepared, foolish knight probably would.

But finally, just when she’s ready to take her failure as deserved, Hecate reaches a door at what she hopes is the top of the tower.  She reaches out with her magic, but no magic reaches her back—just an old locking charm she easily dismantles. 

Hecate supposes a knight would break down the door, but she’s exerted herself far too much as it is.  Huffing, she flicks a finger and lets the door open on its own accord.  It cracks apart only an inch, but a light shines through.

Someone’s inside.

“Hello?” she calls, tapping lightly on the wood in a knock.  There’s no response.

With a heavy sigh, Hecate pushes the door open enough to slip through, and takes in the appearance of the room.

Unlike the rest of the castle, it’s clean and well-lit.  There is a wall lined with shelves full of books, piles upon piles of papers covered with scribbles and drawings, and most strikingly, the Princess herself.

Princess Pippa makes Hecate feel as though she’s eaten her own heart from the first glance, and she nearly chokes.  She’s delicately settled beside an open window on a bed, red hair braided softly down her back and draped off to one side, hands folded daintily across her chest, and eyes closed in a restful slumber. 

She’s absolutely stunning, and Hecate thinks she’s never hated anything more than the way her magic feels like it’s swelling up within her at the sight.

She clears her throat—both out of need and to alert the sleeping Princess to her presence—but there’s little use to it.  She doesn’t stir.  Hesitantly, Hecate begins to step closer, conscious of every breath and heartbeat.  She feels like an intruder in this space. 

It’s tempting to turn and flee, but she’s come all this way, and it’s not as though Pippa will want to stay in the tower. 

Probably.

Hecate pauses, hand already outstretched towards her.

She really hasn’t thought this through at all.  She’s a witch.  Pippa is the Princess.  She’ll never want a witch to rescue her, probably won’t even want to leave with her.  Then what’ll she do?  Kidnap the woman?  Leave her here?  She’s not sure which would be a worse offense.

Steeling herself for the worst, Hecate closes the rest of the distance between them and bends down, hand still outstretched, and taps her finger twice succinctly on Pippa’s shoulder. 

Again, nothing happens.

With a huff of impatience, she tries again, this time giving her a little shake, but the girl remains resolutely in her slumber. 

Knowing every minute spent here is a minute Mildred could be downstairs putting her life in danger, Hecate pulls herself together and tries for a third time.  “Please wake up,” she begs softly, feeling like her efforts are useless. 

Yet, as if the words were the magic cure, two brown eyes pop open, startling Hecate into stumbling back with a jolt.

“You’re a woman,” she says, sitting bold upright and staring at Hecate with her mouth hanging open.

It’s not exactly the greeting Hecate expected from the Princess upon her rescue, though all things considered, she figures it could be worse.

“Princess Pippa.”  Bowing her head in respect, Hecate lowers her hood and looks anxiously up at Pippa.  “Yes I am?” she asks, scrunching up her face.

Pippa sits and blinks at her for a spell, eyes widening even more as she takes in all of Hecate, before finally settling as her mouth forms a quirked smile.  “Not what I expected, but I’m not one to complain.”  She leaps off her bed and moves closer to Hecate, who suddenly feels as though her legs are made of lead.

Pippa is close, and she smells of honey and roses.  Hecate’s head spins, trying to ignore the sensation of Pippa looking her over, smiling at her as though she’s pleased.   “I’m still waiting for my kiss, though.” 

“Pardon?” Hecate croaks like she’s swallowed a frog.

Pippa rolls her eyes but still smiles with a beaming grin.  “It’s the protocol, you know.  Cursed princess in a tower gets rescued by a knight with a kiss?  You may not be a knight, judging by your lack of armor, but it’s been quite a while, darling, and this princess has no objections to you filling in.”

Hecate thinks it must be the bridge finally catching up with her as suddenly she feels her legs begin to give out below her.


	4. This Was Always Meant to Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!!! First of all, thanks for being patient. I'm soooo happy with how this chapter turned out, and the wait definitely made it all the better. The list of ideas for this story just keeps growing, and I'm so proud of that. Anyways second of all, several of you have been making edits for this. I just want to thank you and share my love for you again, because that's so nice, and it just makes me even more excited to write this. I love that other people are loving this AU! I will absolutely be getting to the comments I still haven't replied to.
> 
> One question I did want to address from some comments-- yes, Pippa looks very Fiona at the moment. That will change, I have a plan for it, but with all the quality things Yessi (and some other people now ahh) have been making using Amanda in her Fiona costume, I just couldn't resist the temptation to give her that look. Amanda's performance did inspire this whole thing, after all.
> 
> Okay now I'll stop rambling, please enjoy!

Hecate blinks to fill the gaps in time as she scrambles to find her words. 

“Well met, it’s meet to nice you.”  She blanches.  That’s not right.  “I mean…”

Pippa’s tinkling laugh in response makes her insides clench, and on impulse Hecate tries to transfer as far away as she can get, but the wards are still in place so nothing happens.  This woman is flustering her in ways she’s completely unused to and not at all prepared for, and she loathes it.

A warm hand settles around her wrist, jolting Hecate back to herself, and she straightens herself back into something that feels safe and clears her throat. 

“Please do call me Pippa, I hardly feel like a princess sitting up here all alone.  And you are?”

“H-Hecate.”

“There’s really no need to be shy,” Pippa says suddenly, like she _knows_ , only Hecate thinks she really truly does not.

“I am not shy!  I simply didn’t expect to be accosted.”

Pippa’s hand drops from her wrist along with her smile, and she takes a gentle step back away.  “I’m sorry if I seemed too eager.  Of course, you haven’t been waiting for this moment all your life.” She pauses to frown then, and Hecate almost feels badly about it, until she remembers what exactly Pippa’s upset she won’t do.   “We can take it slower—at least a week before we wed.”

Hecate feels the blood rush to her face as her lips purse together, trying in vain to form the word.

“We most certainly will not… _wed_.”

Pippa laughs at this, like it’s all a big joke.  Strangely enough, Hecate feels as though she’s gotten the wrong end of it.

“So you just risked your life for the fun of it?  Oh, I do like you.  I think we’ll be very happy together, darling.  A sense of humor goes a long way.”

“I don’t know what you possibly mean to imply.”

Pippa rolls her eyes and sighs, like maybe she’s finally catching on that Hecate has no intentions of marrying her, and she might be able to breathe again.

“Surely you know how it works.  What do you think I’ve been up here waiting for?  Someone to open the door and drop me out in the woods?  That very well might be a nice thought, and I appreciate the sentiment, but _this is my only way out._   You’re my hero!  You journeyed here to rescue me, crossed the lava, defeated the dragon, climbed my tower, and then… well, you were _supposed_ to awaken me with a kiss, but as it happened-”

“Dragon?” Hecate squeaks.

Pippa frowns, clearly displeased with being interrupted from another attempt to get Hecate to kiss her, but it’s the least of Hecate’s concerns at the moment.  “Yes, what about her?”

“The dragon is… real?”  Hecate asks hesitantly, eyebrows knitting together in increasing concern.

“Of course she’s real, but you should know that.”  Pippa sighs, hands on her hips, then freezes.  “You did defeat the dragon?”

“Mildred,” she whispers to herself, feeling the panic rise in her gut.

“Who?”

But Pippa’s rescue is already forgotten as Hecate makes her way out the door and hurries back down the many steps.  Of all the people in the world, it has to be Mildred Hubble that she’s left alone with a real live dragon.

If the Goddess doesn’t strike her down for this, the dragon surely will.

She’s panting by the time she reaches the bottom, and shaking from the effort she’s unaccustomed to as she tears back through the castle to the room she’s left Mildred in, but there’s something in her pulling her onward. 

Hecate’s nearly sick when she realizes Mildred’s chair is empty and the girl is nowhere in sight.  There’s so many directions she could have taken, Hecate feels panic rising as she swivels in her place trying to make sense of things, and she’s so distracted she practically leaps a foot in the air when a warm hand settles on her shoulder.

“Is everything all right?” Pippa asks softly.

She hadn’t even realized the Princess was following.

Hecate swallows dryly and frowns.  “I told her to stay here, but _of course_ she’s wandered off, and there’s a dragon.  I don’t know.”  The room feels like it’s getting warmer, the air shallower, and Pippa’s unfamiliar touch isn’t helping matters. 

As if sensing this, Pippa drops her hand, but the concerned look stays firmly in her eyes.  “Who, Hecate?”

“Mildred.”  She closes her eyes and tries to quiet her rising concerns, focusing on reaching out with her magic much as she had to find Pippa. 

“Mildred is?”

Hecate opens her eyes and scowls at the intrusive questions.  “My nuisance.”  She clicks her tongue.  “I can’t focus on protecting you both—wait here.”  She starts to leave, then pauses and looks back.  “Please, just give me five minutes.”

It’s easy, once she tramples down her rising fear, to find Mildred.  The girl’s essence is strong, and if Hecate pauses long enough to look, she can see the trail of disruption she’s left in her wake. 

She’s relieved when she sets sight on Mildred, still in one piece and not screaming in fear.

It’s another thing entirely when she looks further into the room, following Mildred’s outstretched arm towards the dragon, and sees her _petting it like a kitten._

Hecate Hardbroom has always prided herself on looking particularly well-kept, but as with all things Mildred touches, she can feel the disruption beginning to take hold of her own self in the form of a few grey hairs.

“ _Mildred Hubble_ ,” she whispers loudly, nodding to herself in satisfaction when the girl jumps in surprise.  She is definitely, 100% grounded when they get home.

The dragon too turns to face her, a sleek silver beast with a wash of purple shimmering from her scales when she moves, long hooked talons scraping threateningly against the stone floor and breath so warm, she can feel it from across the room when she huffs.  A small dragon, certainly, and she’d have to be to live comfortably in these castle walls, but still her barbed tail stretches easily the length of Hecate’s height.

“I found the dragon, Miss Hardbroom,” Mildred says, like it’s a statement of pride.  Her slow strokes along the dragon’s neck continue.

Hecate, against all her better judgement, takes a few sharp steps closer, freezing when the dragon snarls in her direction.  By the stars, if she could just transfer Mildred this would be so much easier.

“Mildred, come here, you foolish girl!”

“It’s fine, really.  She’s very sweet, aren’t you, Tabby?”

Of course she’s named the beast.

The dragon, for lack of a better word, nods.  Hecate’s never seen anything like it, can hardly believe her own eyes, but then, she’s never actually seen any dragon.  Read about them, feared them, been thankful for their strikingly rare numbers—but to see a dragon respond to a little girl like it actually understands her… it’s astounding. 

She frowns. 

“She just let you stroke her?”

Mildred nods and hums to herself.  “She’s sweet really, like the tabby cat that used to live next door at my old home.  And look, she’s all chained up, I think she’s hurt,” she adds dejectedly. 

Hands outstretched in a sign of peace, Hecate gently steps closer to see better what Mildred means.  This time, the dragon seems to accept her presence, merely dropping her head back down against the stone floor and allowing Mildred’s gentle stroking to continue. 

The effect she has on the beast is almost magical to watch.

Sure enough, there’s a thick metal collar around her neck attached to a long chain.  She’d wager at least partially made of iron, if the surrounding burns are anything to go by.  Just enough to keep her irritable, as if being trapped in a castle with only a girl locked upstairs for company and the occasional man running in to slay her wouldn’t have been cruel already. 

Hecate thinks maybe she understands just a little of what Mildred is seeing, as she looks into the dragon’s glassy black eye and sees her reflection peering back at her.

She’s been trapped, she’s been hunted… she’s been used to solitude and confused by the sudden caring of Mildred Hubble’s big heart.

“Can’t we set her free?” Mildred pleads quietly.

Hecate reaches out as though to stroke the dragon too, but stops herself just before she makes contact and swallows thickly.  “There are villages she could fly to from here.  She could burn them.  It’s not—”

“But she wouldn’t do that, she’s kind, see?”  Mildred fearlessly wraps her arms around the dragon’s neck and it nuzzles her back.

“Dragons have fire, Mildred.  Surely you’ve seen the results of that scattered around.”

“And witches have magic, but you don’t go about cursing people, even though they all think you do.  Maybe dragons only burn people because people say they do.”

Hecate shivers and wraps her arms tightly around her stomach.  Is that how Mildred sees her?  As a guarded beast being forced into her role?  Is that how she sees herself?

She thinks back to all the times they’ve come to her door, desperate to provoke her just to have a reason to burn her to the ground.  She thinks back to the arena—how she’d been goaded into her magic from the moment she’d flashed down and revealed herself.  How the men had attacked on command, how they’d rushed her, how the audience had screamed for it until at last she resorted to using her magic against them just to breathe again.  She feels the bile rise in her throat, burning, but lets it. 

Is that how the dragon feels when the men come to hunt her?  When the fire rises in her belly until she erupts, giving them the show they want, giving them the beast they need to fulfill their masculine needs for violence before they claim their maiden prize?

“All right.  Keep her calm while I see if I can unlock it, okay?” she asks, meeting Mildred’s watery eyes and making sure she knows the risk.  Keeping company with a beast too oft provoked can come with consequences, even when they’re unintended.

“Thank you!  Shh, it’s okay, Tabby.  Miss Hardbroom’s going to get you out.  And it won’t even hurt, right?”

“No, it shouldn’t hurt.” 

Hecate sighs, kneeling awkwardly down on the sooty floor in her dress.  She can feel the dragon’s eyes following her, but Mildred’s comforting keeps her still.  She holds her breath and slowly reaches forward, not wanting to spook her with Mildred so close, but too afraid to ask the girl to step away when she seems to be working better than any calming draught could.

The metal collar is tight and worryingly warm beneath her fingers, but Hecate closes her eyes as she finds the space where it’s been melded together and concentrates.  Under her breath she utters a spell, focusing on the individual tendrils and unwinding them from one another, forcing the metal to move and return to form.  Finally, it splits apart, and her eyes pop open at the sound of an anguished groan.

The dragon begins to writhe, knocking Hecate back against the floor and wailing loudly enough to force a tremble through the ancient stone walls. 

“Mildred, get back!” Hecate orders, fearing the worst.

Mildred, for once, listens, backing away from the dragon’s reach but still loyally remaining in her line of sight.  It’s harder for Hecate to get to her feet.  She can feel the flesh on her shoulder already bruising from where it smashed against the ground, and her dress constricts her legs, but she finally makes it to a wobbly upright stance and tries to back away.

She’s halted when she sees the cause of the sudden uproar.

It’s not the taste of freedom, nor some sudden beastly urge to destroy overcoming her—it’s the flesh beneath the metal collar now visible as the blistered, raw mess it was underneath.  She hadn’t realized it had practically seared itself to her, but it’s clear now that the pain from ripping it away would be visceral.  Hecate curses under her breath.

“Mildred, do you still have our bag?”

“On my back!”

“Good.  Reach inside.  I’ve expanded it, so you’re going to need to try to summon something for me.  I know you haven’t tried before, but this is important.  Do you remember when we talked about spells on the way here?  How half of magic is the feeling of wanting it badly enough?”

“Mhmm!” Mildred replies eagerly, already hauling the pack off her shoulders and tugging open the zipper.

“Okay, now close your eyes and reach in your hand.  I need you to retrieve my vial of Adder’s Tongue.  She’s badly hurt.  Just say the name, firmly, and try to picture it.”

“I don’t know what that looks like,” Mildred cries, sounding distressed by the prospect.

“Think of what it does then.  We went over this one, do you remember?”

“It—um…”

“ _Think_ , Mildred.  It’s for healing, but it’s important that you concentrate on that conversation—what you asked about it, how you felt about it, how you imagined it in that moment.  Feel the Adder’s Tongue and then ask the bag for the little glass bottle of its liquid.”

“Adder’s Tongue,” Mildred orders shakily.

“Firmer!”

“Adder’s Tongue!”  There’s a gasp, and Hecate risks tearing her eyes away from the wailing beast to see Mildred standing beside the bag, holding up the little vial triumphantly.  “I did it!”

“You did,” Hecate whispers, trying to push aside her surprise.  She looks back at the dragon, wondering how she’s going to get it on her neck without getting trampled in the process.

“You had her calm earlier.  How?”

“I just talked to her and she let me get closer,” Mildred says with a shrug, like it’s always that easy for her.

“Try doing that again.  But be _careful_ and don’t approach her until she stills,” Hecate orders sternly.

She forgot to ask Mildred to summon a cloth, but the girl’s already focused on the dragon, speaking to her and shushing her with much more care than Hecate could ever summon.  She looks around for something else that could be used, nearly jolting out of her skin as a soft voice speaks from behind her.

“Can I help?”

It’s Pippa.  And Hecate’s starting to wonder why she even bothers telling people to stay put when they clearly have no desire to listen to her.  As if sensing this, Pippa smiles softly and does that _thing_ again where she steps far too close and puts her hand on Hecate’s arm and makes her feel like she’s short-circuiting. 

“Oh, do calm down.  I really was going to let you play hero by yourself, but then I heard that awful noise and thought you might need a hand.”  She side-eyes the dragon and sighs to herself.  “Clearly I should have come sooner.”

Hecate narrows her eyes and steps back, letting Pippa’s hand slide limply off her arm.  “Actually, your help is not needed.  We were just finishing up, so if you’ll just return to the other room, we can join you shortly.”

Pippa rolls her eyes and pushes past Hecate to size up the situation.  “If you must do it, you could at least do it quickly.  Honestly, why does the poor beast need to suffer longer?”

“We’re not killing the dragon, we’re rescuing her,” Hecate admits. 

“You’re not slaying the dragon?  At all?” Pippa’s eyes widen, but she notably doesn’t protest this particular protocol breech.  “So what’s all this, then?  Why is she so upset?”

Hecate’s shoulders slump just a hair as she realizes there’s now no hope of getting Pippa to leave them to it, and she forces herself to concentrate back at the issue on hand, and definitely not on how pleasant Pippa smells as she wafts past her to get a closer look.

“There was iron in the chain around her neck, and when I removed it, I found she was rather badly burned.”

“That’s barbaric!” Pippa chirps, just as the dragon lets out a pathetic whine of agreement.  “Oh, please let me help.  There must be something I can do.”

“I need a cloth to soak in this solution so I can clean and heal her wound, there—”

All she’s meant to do is ask Pippa to retrieve the bag Mildred left by the wall, but before she can finish the sentence, Pippa is yanking at the hem of her dress, tearing off the fabric in big green strips.  “Will this do?” she asks, holding them up.

“I—uhm—yes?”  Hesitantly, Hecate takes them, whispering a cleaning spell under her breath before carefully pouring some of the liquid from the vial onto them. 

“Mildred, is she ready?”

“It’s all right now, Miss Hardbroom.  I’ve got her.”  Indeed, Mildred is practically cuddling the whimpering dragon’s head.  And though her pain is still clear, she’s still enough for Hecate to risk approaching.

“This might sting, but it should help,” Hecate whispers in the dragon’s ear.  She feels foolish with Pippa watching, and tries to pretend she’s anywhere else. 

Carefully, Hecate places a palm against the dragon’s warm scales, letting her get used to another’s presence at such a sensitive area.  The dragon flinches as she places down the first cloth, a low pained roar echoing through the castle walls, but she patiently remains still while Hecate secures the rest of the saturated cloths around her neck, tying them in place as best she can.  It won’t heal her completely, but it should quicken the process and dull the pain.

As soon as Hecate steps back, the dragon starts to stir, and she’s quick to grab Mildred by the shoulders and haul her towards the wall, ignoring her own bruised pain at the effort.  “Get our bag,” she orders, before swiveling and searching for Pippa.

The Princess is behind her, a gentle tear rolling down her cheek as she looks on at the scene before her.  “You really helped her,” is all she says, like it’s unheard of, and perhaps it is, but Hecate doesn’t have time to dwell on it.  Instead she grabs Pippa’s hand, dragging the Princess back to attention with the sudden touch just as a cloud of soot and dust reaches them, rippling off the ground as the dragon expands her wings.

She lets out a might roar, somehow sounding much more pleased than agonized.

The wings flap again, and she gains distance from the ground, tentatively testing out her new lack of boundaries.

“Bye, Tabby!” Mildred calls as the dragon makes for a crumbled space in the wall.  She breathes fire out into the sunlight and takes off, swooping through the air into her freedom.

Hecate’s own eyes tear up, but it’s just the dust.

As soon as Tabby’s cleared the castle boundaries, before they can even watch her complete her grand escape, the castle walls tremble.  Hecate can feel the magic begin to react, confused by the breech.  Everything holding the ancient walls in place is losing control, slipping and cracking.

“We need to leave, quickly,” Hecate orders. 

Mildred, having retrieved the bag and returned to her side, is already moving, Pippa fast behind her and dragging Hecate along by their entwined hands.  She can barely breathe as the rumbling stones begin to disintegrate, filling her lungs. 

“You can do it, we’re not far!” Pippa yells back at her, and Hecate swears her legs somehow manage to pick up just a hint of speed. 

There are walls crumbling down around them, boulders that barely miss them crashing to the ground as the castle loses the last bits of magical control.

Her bruises hurt, her muscles ache, but they somehow make it outside the door before the walls fully cave in.

She can barely see beyond the dust and dirt in the air, can barely hear, and Mildred is _missing_.  Hecate turns to run back inside, but Pippa’s tightened grip stops her.

“She’s right here,” she yells right beside Hecate’s ear, like she knows.  Hecate squints and makes out two little braids at Pippa’s other side with relief. 

The bridge is impossible to make out, if it’s even still there at all, but if they remain much longer they’ll surely be crushed.  There are stones tumbling outward too, far too close to them for comfort, edging the little group nearer and nearer to a cliff edge that none can actually find beyond the heat that burns up out from it.

Hecate has half a second to hope that they’ve passed the boundary as she grabs both of them tightly and uses all she can to transfer them from that spot.

 

She opens her eyes to blue.

After a moment, it takes the familiar shape of the sky, and she realizes they’ve made it out.

Hecate blinks and pushes herself up with a groan.  She hasn’t transferred that badly in decades, but it’s difficult to get your bearings in a new place when you can’t see much of the space you’re leaving.  Still, she can’t help the blush that rises to her cheeks.

“Woah!” Mildred whispers from beside her.  She follows the child’s line of sight up the grassy hill, past the dead rocky surface, and up to the horizon where once there stood a castle.

Now there is nothing but dirt and dust swirling in a brown cloud through the air—the remains of the fallen rubble.

Hecate coughs to expel what’s left of it from her lungs.

“Princess, are you all right?” she asks dryly, expecting the newest member of their party to be somewhere behind her. 

There’s no response.

“Princess Pippa?” she tries again, this time forcing herself to turn.  At first, Hecate’s stomach sinks.  Pippa isn’t there.  Pippa must have been left behind, and everything starts to go fuzzy at the edges of her vision again.

Until she hears a low groan.

She follows it over to the treeline, where Pippa is bent over a bush.  With a heavy sigh of relief, Hecate falls back down and nearly whimpers out loud.

They’re all safe.

Mildred chuckles beside her before hopping up on her young little legs like nothing’s happened, dropping their backpack down beside Hecate, and bouncing over to Pippa.  “It’s okay, same thing happened to me my first time.”

Hecate stretches her legs and lets her eyes close for a second, pulling herself back together and letting her body catch up with the rest of her.  She’s never running again. 

“Oh?  And you must be Mildred.  I didn’t realize Hecate had a child.  You were very good with that dragon in there.”

She can practically feel Mildred beaming at the compliment, even without looking over.

“She’s not my mom,” Mildred says with a strangely dull laugh.  “I’m just HB’s apprentice.”

“HB?”

Hecate frowns.

“Miss Hardbroom, I mean.  It’s a nickname I’ve been thinking of trying.  I haven’t actually said it to her yet, though.”

“A wise decision,” Hecate quips from her spot on the ground, eyes still closed against the sun.

“Yes, Miss Hardbroom!” she calls back, failing to hide her giggle. 

“So you’re really a princess?  How’d you end up in the tower?”  Hecate really needs to have a talk with her about all of these nosey questions, but her own curiosity holds back the admonishment for the time being.

“That, Mildred, is a rather long story that I’m afraid I just don’t remember well.  I was only six and it was very… difficult to get used to.”

“Six?  But what about your parents?”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember much about them.”

“That’s sad,” Mildred sighs.  “I don’t really remember my Mum either, but she’ll come back some day, and I can get to know her then.  Maybe now that you’re free, you can do the same.”

“Perhaps,” Pippa says with a soft hum that warms Hecate’s insides.  She’s so exhausted, and it’s a very nice hum.

“Now, Hecate.”

Her eyes pop open and she pulls herself reluctantly into a sitting position, then the rest of the way onto her feet, embarrassed by her train of thought better left behind. 

“Princess.”

“ _Pippa.”_

“Pippa.”  Hecate sighs. 

“You did it! You rescued me!  You’re amazing, you’re wonderful, you’re… a little unorthodox I’ll admit, but… thy deed is great and thy heart is pure.  I am eternally in your debt.”  Pippa finishes with a flourish, and Hecate can’t help wondering just how long she’s been planning this little speech.

“I assure you, there’s no need for that.”  If anything, she’ll probably owe Pippa a favor once she meets Lord Hellibore.

“I just wish I could remember all of it.”  Pippa frowns dramatically and crosses her arms.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m afraid I must have hit my head, I can’t quite remember half of our escape.  The last thing I recall was trying to find the bridge across, and then we were just here.”

Mildred giggles.  “You didn’t forget, Miss Hardbroom just used magic to get us away.  That’s probably why you were so dizzy, but it’s okay, it goes away.”

Pippa bristles.  “That was magic?”

“Mhmm!”

“That means you’re a… a witch?!”  Pippa blanches and jumps away, looking positively scandalized suddenly.  “No, this is all _wrong._   You can’t be a witch, this _cannot_ be happening.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Hecate says dryly with a sniff. 

“What?  No, I’m not… that’s not what I mean, I just, ugh,” Pippa cries tossing her head to the sky and breathing quickly. 

Hecate is about to tell her she knows quite just what she means, and that she’s more than used to it, when Pippa lets out a sharp anguished cry.

“What is it?”  She looks around, half expecting danger.

“My tower’s gone.”

Hecate blinks.  “Yes?”

“It should be there in the sky.  But it’s not there, it’s gone,” Pippa says unnecessarily, panic rising in her words, and Hecate has a bad feeling about it.

“The castle collapsed, remember?” she tries.

Pippa spins in place, looking lost.  “I was supposed to stand here and look back at it, but it’s _gone._   I can’t go back.  What am I supposed to do?” she squeaks.

_Leave,_ Hecate thinks, but doesn’t believe her harshness will help the situation.  She’s had more than enough panic for one day to recognize it consuming someone else.  With a frown, Hecate leans down to her bag and quickly summons a canteen.  “Mildred, I think I hear a stream nearby, I need you to go fill this with water.”

“But…” Her warm little eyes shift to Pippa, and while Hecate knows her heart is in the right place, she’s not sure Mildred should be here for whatever’s coming.  With a single quirk of her brow, Mildred quiets and accepts the canteen without argument.  “I’ll be right back,” she says instead, glancing one last time in Pippa’s direction before skipping off into the trees.

“Pippa,” Hecate begins carefully, making her way over to the ranting woman with her arms outstretched, much as she had done with the dragon.  She has absolutely no idea how to comfort someone.  “You don’t need your tower.  It was a horrible little room, and you never have to go back there.”

“B-but I need it!  You don’t want to marry me, and you’re a witch, and this is all so wrong.  I have to go back.  I need my tower back, and my dragon back, so I can wait for someone to come do it right,” she rants frantically. 

“Pippa…”

“I need my walls and my bed.  All these birds are so loud out here.”

“Pippa, you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Of course I’m not!” Pippa yells back, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.  “How could anyone think clearly with all this air?  And these trees?  They’re so much bigger up close.  And that flower over there?  It smelled delightful.  What am I supposed to do with all of this?”  She’s trembling now.

It’s too much, Hecate realizes, and she wishes she’d thought of it sooner.  It’s too much to go from solitude in one room to suddenly having the whole world around her.  It’s a lot bigger out here than it would be through a single window.

“It’s going to be all right, Pippa,” Hecate tries, stepping closer.  She’s unsure what comfort would be welcome, unsure what might overwhelm her more.  All she really knows about Pippa is that she’s almost too eager for touch, and though Hecate loathes it, she can’t think of anything else to try.  Her words clearly mean little in Pippa’s current state.

Taking a deep breath, Hecate closes the space between them and lightly rests her palms on Pippa’s shoulders.

That breaks the dam.

Pippa’s tears turn into full sobs as she yanks Hecate flush against her, clinging tightly around her shoulders as she buries her face in Hecate’s neck.  She can feel the wetness against her skin and shivers involuntarily as Pippa holds on and cries.

“You’ll get used to it,” Hecate says, awkwardly patting her on the back.  “You might even like it.”

“You think?” Pippa asks quietly with a wet little sniffle.

“Yes,” Hecate answers honestly.  “And more good news, there’s no need for all that foolish worry about marrying me, because I’m actually here to rescue you for another.”

“Oh,” Pippa snuffles.  “Is she nice?”

Hecate frowns. 

“ _He_ is… a complex man.  Lord Hellibore has a castle, though.  It might even have a tower you can visit when you wish?”  She’s unsure if Pippa’s answering sob is from fear or relief.

“So this, _man,_ couldn’t even come get me himself?  Hellibore, more like Helliboring,” she says, still muffled against Hecate’s neck.  “That’s even _worse,”_ she wails.

Hecate can’t disagree.

“You don’t have to marry him.  I… admit that I made an agreement with him to retrieve you, but marriage is only what I believe he plans to do after.  I’m sure that once he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, you could go off on your merry way and reject him should you wish to.”

And if not, Hecate’s fairly certain she’d be more than happy to help.  

Pippa pulls back slightly, face red and wet, but Hecate gasps.  Not since Morgana has such beauty been bestowed upon a woman, now that she truly takes the time to look.  Hecate swallows, forces herself to stop that train of thought.  Pippa isn’t hers, wouldn’t even want her if she was, and Hecate hardly has time for someone in her life even if they wanted to be there.

She has… potions to make.  Plants to harvest.  Someone has to do it.

A Mildred to deal with.

Well, perhaps not the last one, she thinks, remembering her deal with Ada and feeling almost a little sad at it as she recalls Mildred’s face when she successfully summoned the Adder’s Tongue. 

“Thank you, Hecate.  But unless you’ve changed your mind and want me yourself, I do have to marry him, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Pippa says through a wet smile.

“You truly do not.”

Pippa just smiles again and sighs.  “No but I… I want to.”

Hecate doesn’t think she believes her, but it’s not her place to call her out on it.  They’re strangers, after all.  One dragon rescue is hardly a solid bonding experience—though she’s not sure she would know what one looks like anyways. 

That thought doesn’t stop her eyes from drifting to Pippa’s lips.  They’re plump and red from crying, glistening too, but she thinks it might be nice to kiss them.  It’s the first time Hecate can remember having such a thought about anyone in particular, and it’s startling, but kind of nice.  For a moment, she’s tempted to give Pippa exactly what she’d asked for from the start.

“Hecate?”

“Hmm?”

“I appreciate the hug, but you can let go of me now,” Pippa says softly with a chuckle.  “I think I’ll be okay.”

Hecate’s arms shoot away, flying tightly back to her sides where they belong as she takes a wide step back.  She can feel the heat flushing her face. 

“Got the water, HB!” Mildred chirps, lumbering back oblivious to the blushing adults.  It’s enough to break the spell, and Hecate huffs with annoyance as Pippa laughs again.

“Do _not_ call me, HB.”


	5. This is How the Scene Must Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whhhhaaaaaatttttt? How crazy, I'm updating! I'm so sorry. I know it's been a hot minute, but I've returned! 10000% of the blame falls on Raquel for distracting me with so many other characters. My focus was obliterated. 
> 
> I will say that there is a strong possibility of a sequel for this. It still has a lot to come, but I was going through my plans, and one (unrelated to any Shrek films so far) sort of popped into being. So, that may be a thing.

A small lunch is eaten in relative silence, occasionally broken by Mildred’s chattering, and Hecate has no desire to change that in her exhaustion.  Princess Pippa is a lot of work, even after she calms herself down. 

There’s something undeniably warm in Hecate’s chest at the sight of her slowly renegotiating with the world, smiling up at the sun and laughing at a fluttering butterfly.  The more the shock wears off, the more she becomes almost eager to experience it all.  She is kind, generous, and open—all the things Hecate’s never considered herself to be, and it’s bittersweet.

There’s the half of her that watches Mildred quickly warming to Pippa, whispering secrets and making her giggle at whatever’s been said, that feels a flare of green run through her.  She’d felt special for getting Mildred’s approval so easily, but how could she even compete when Pippa isn’t stiff like her?  Pippa, completely unused to affection from her time in the tower, takes to it like a cauldron to a fire.  She thrives in it, and she’s beautiful in it.

And Hecate wishes she knew how to do that, too.

Sometimes.

On a rare, sparing occasion of reflection.

Then there’s the other side of Hecate’s heart that feels her magic jolt at the sight of Pippa embracing it all, eager to join and call it hers, and she tramples that side down as fast as she can. 

They’re only temporary.  Only for the length of a journey, and she would be foolish to let herself forget that. 

Clearing her throat sharply, Hecate stands, wincing as it jars her injured shoulder.

“If we plan to make any progress back by nightfall, we should be off.”

Pippa eagerly hoists herself to her feet with a wide-eyed expression.  “We’ll stop at nightfall?”

“Yes, or we can fly straight through if you’d prefer?”  She absolutely loathes the idea of flying so far in her state without a rest, but she’ll never admit it.  If Pippa wants to be rid of her quicker, she can endure it.

“Why would you think I can fly?” Pippa asks, voice rising.

“I would not.  I don’t even trust Mildred with a broom.  Yet,” she adds as an afterthought, remembering the girl is keenly watching the exchange.  “We can fit on mine together.”

Pippa looks fretful at the words, squeezing her hands together, and Hecate’s stomach drops.  Of course she wouldn’t want to share a broom with Hecate. 

She sighs deeply and looks to the side, not wanting to feel so bothered by it.  “I’m sorry to say I can’t provide better company or transport suited to a Princess, but short of walking, we really have no other option to get back.”

“Walking!  We should walk,” Pippa rushes. 

Hecate had meant the comment sarcastically, of course, having no real intention of enduring days of travel through the woods on foot.  On her own, perhaps the journey would be relaxing if not tiring, but with a hyperactive child and an increasingly odd Princess?  Surely the Goddess wouldn’t be so cruel.

“I like walking,” Mildred pipes in, prompting Hecate to turn on her with a glare.  How dare she flip sides against her?

“I thought you liked flying?”

“I do,” Mildred looks down, at least having the decency to be sheepish about it.  “But walking’s nice too.”

Hecate quirks a suspicious brow and Mildred folds under it with a soft huff of breath.  “We can spend more time together, just the three of us, before Pippa has to leave.”

It’s so simple for her—the three of them.  It’s been an hour of Pippa and already Mildred’s adopted her, but considering how quickly she’d decided Hecate was somehow hers, it’s really less surprising than it should be.  Hecate feels odd about it and shifts away from her simplistic view that doesn’t at all account for the feelings Hecate shouldn’t have or the complexities of their current needs. 

“I think it would be for the best if—”

Pippa holds a hand up to stop her and steps forward, head high and all the regality she can muster under her chin.  “ _I_ think it would be for the best if we walk.  In fact, I insist.”

“If you’d rather we leave you behind…”

Pippa laughs at this and crosses her arms, stepping once more into Hecate’s space.  “You need me, remember?  I’m part of your deal.  You can’t afford the risk that something might happen to me, unprotected in strange woods, probably filled with violent men.  And not to mention, the roaming dragon _you_ set loose.”

Hecate clenches her jaw and looks at her hands as they fiddle with her timepiece.  It’s so infuriating that she’s right.

“Why, pray tell, do we have to walk?  Is the thought of riding beside me so horrific?”

Pippa’s eyes widen.  “No, of course not, Hecate.  It’s me, I promise.”

“Hmmf.”

“No, really.  I must admit, I’m not very fond of heights.  Towers can do that to a girl.”

Hecate frowns.  There’s something off about Pippa’s words, and while they make perfect sense, they don’t seem to be the full truth.  She shifts too much when she says it, falters too hard to string the words into something sturdy.  The words are lacking, somehow, and it’s disappointing.  Flying isn’t just about height and speed—it’s about moving with the fullness of her magic.  And that, Hecate thinks, must be the real issue, the real thing Pippa won’t say to her. 

She’s not fond of Hecate’s magic. 

She doesn’t trust Hecate to fly her safely with it.

“Very well, then,” Hecate says dryly, motioning for Mildred to gather their things back into the backpack.  “We shall walk.”

And so they begin their slow trudge through the woods.

For a while, things are relatively quiet among the trio.

Mildred, always a ball of energy at the worst of times, runs ahead despite Hecate’s attempts to warn her to take care, and Hecate finds herself thankful that her own slow gait is matched somewhat by Pippa’s frequent pauses to take in whatever catches her fancy—a  bunny rabbit, a bush with pink flowers blooming across it, a tree stump.  Pippa seems to be relishing in the chance to wander about and spread her legs, but Hecate finds it difficult to feel the same.

She’s hardly spent much time walking places further than the outskirts of her swamp, usually preferring to transfer or take her broom over trudging through the woods near a town full of men with harm in their hearts.  But out here, where so much of the wood is virtually unknown to Hecate, it’s almost nice to linger and breathe it in.

The heels, she reluctantly thinks, may have to go.  Already there is an ache beginning to build in her calves from all the running about, and their journey home will take several days on foot.  Just as Hecate is seriously beginning to contemplate a shortening spell on them, she notices Pippa stumble across the path a few yards ahead, only barely managing to catch herself before she crashes into a tree with a great whine of frustration.

It’s the third time in the last hour that she’s stumbled over the ripped edge of her dress, and it seems Hecate is no longer the only one growing tired of the sight. 

“This is ridiculous!” Pippa growls, still managing to sound pleasant about it.

“I could always mend it, you know.  Magic doesn’t have to be so horrible,” Hecate quips dryly. 

She does mean it, she would fix Pippa’s dress in a heartbeat if she asked her, but she won’t impose her precious magic where it isn’t wanted, even if a clumsy princess does begin to drive her mad.  It would be such a simple flick of the wrist with all the times she’s repaired her own, but her magic deserves to be honored.

And it’s frustrating, somehow more than it’s been with everyone else in her life, that Pippa doesn’t see that.  Clearly Mildred’s having a less than favorable effect on her if she’s starting to expect acceptance from any stranger she meets.

“Oh, Hecate, don’t you understand?  Do you have _any_ idea how long I’ve been in this dress?”  Pippa stomps her foot petulantly. 

It’s true that there are many mysteries behind Pippa’s time in the tower, no doubt somehow fueled by the same magic blocking travel spells and trapping her inside, but it makes Hecate’s head ache to try and wrap her mind around the complexities of all she experienced.  Given her own preference for keeping her wardrobe simple, it’s hard to imagine ever being so frustrated with a dress, but as she approaches the pouting woman, she notes her eyes have a particular glassy sheen spreading across them.

Even Mildred has heard the strained commotion and swiveled back to them.

“It’s a perfectly fine dress many would be grateful to have, and I’m sure Lord Hellibore will buy you plenty more.”

Hecate holds back her own private thought that it is indeed hideous.  Pippa might take it to mean Hecate thinks it looks hideous on her, which she very much doubts is at all possible.

“All I want is for the rip to spread and unravel the rest of this wretched green monstrosity.  I don’t even _like_ green.  I just got _stuck_ up there with this _thing_ as my only option.  I tried burning it once and another just appeared in its place—the exact same ugly design.”  Pippa sighs, then seems to consider her words.  “But out here…”

It happens so quickly, Hecate has to choose between breathing and reacting.  One moment, Pippa is leaning up against a tree lamenting her dress struggles, truly testing Hecate’s ability to keep a serious face against her plight of fashion.  The next moment, she’s reaching behind herself to tug free the bow and loosen the ribbon holding the corset of her dress in place.  Pippa takes a deep breath as it falls past her hips, pooling at her feet.

She chooses action over air and grabs for Mildred, shielding a hand over the child’s eyes to stop her gawping up at the Princess standing in her underthings.  “Princess Pippa!”  Hecate gasps, her own eyes remaining wide open in surprise.

Pippa doesn’t seem to notice her audience, instead taking her dress from around her ankles and giving it a swift kick right into a puddle of mud. 

For a moment all Hecate can see are soft curves, and something comes alive inside her just as her mind catches up with her eyes and she manages to tug them down to the ground, flushing an uncharacteristic shade of red.  She’s never… and Pippa just… and she… oh, Goddess.

“That’s much better!”  Pippa exclaims with a relieved sigh. 

Hecate’s hand remains firmly over Mildred’s eyes, her gaze piercing a hole through the ground.

“Darling, I’m perfectly covered, there’s no need to look away for my modesty,” Pippa says with a light chuckle.  “Though I must say, it is nice to know there’s an appreciative gaze out there beyond my own in the mirror for once.”

Hecate chances another glance up and forces her stare to stay on Pippa’s face, clearing her throat that’s suddenly gone dry. 

“What exactly are you planning to do now?  Travel the woods unclothed?”

“Please don’t.”  Mildred shudders, eyes still firmly blocked.

Hecate pointedly looks at the trampled muddy mess Pippa’s made of her dress and shakes her head.  While she can certainly understand the need to be rid of a reminder of a bad time, she can’t quite say she’d do the same before having a backup in mind.  The woods will be cold at night, and Pippa was not wrong to suggest there could very well be strange men and bandits lurking about. 

When she looks back up, again careful to keep her gaze even, it’s now Pippa’s turn to blush.  “I was so excited to get rid of it, I didn’t get that far in my planning.  I don’t suppose you’d like to help me?”

Hecate sniffs.  “I could always repair it with magic, but you wouldn’t want that.”

“No, I don’t think I’d like to see that dress repaired ever again if I can help it,” she says with a frown.  Then, much to Hecate’s disbelief, Pippa’s eyes widen eagerly.  “Oh, you’re brilliant, can you really use magic for things like that?”

“Of course,” Hecate bites out, offended at the implication that she could ever fail at such a mediocre ability as a little fabric repair.  “I have no doubt with proper instruction, even Mildred could do a decent job.”  Sensing the girl is about to volunteer to do just that, and not wanting to spend the rest of the day on a dress, she quickly adds, “Though I think it best if she merely observes the first time.”

“If you really don’t mind, that does give me an idea.”

“If it will get you out of your underthings, I’m all ears.”

“All ears, or all eyes?” Pippa quips, making Hecate flush red again.  “For someone so against marrying me, I’m shocked you’d want me out of these, but if you insist…”

“I’m still _here,_ ” Mildred whines.  Pippa starts laughing wholeheartedly, and Hecate looks back to the ground, wishing desperately for it to open up and swallow her.

“That is _not_ what I meant,” Hecate hisses through clenched teeth.  “Do you want my assistance or not?”

Pippa’s laughter softens at this, though Hecate still refuses to lift her gaze from the safety of the ground.

“I’m sorry, Hecate, I was only having a bit of fun.  I was actually thinking that perhaps you might be able to make something different for me?”

“I’m not a seamstress!”

“Of course not!  I meant with magic.  Does it work like that?”

“Now you’re fine with magic?”

“It’s for _fashion,_ Hecate.  Unless you really would rather I continue on like this, because I won’t let that thing touch me again now that it’s off.”

Hecate sighs, trying to let go of some of the tenseness clinging to her muscles.  “Theoretically, constructing something from nothing requires a great deal of difficulty.  I could do it, but it would require potions and more preparation than I have out here in the woods.  However, I might have something…” she drifts off, looking down to Mildred and reluctantly removing her hand from her eyes.  Pippa’s covered more or less, she supposes.  “Mildred, hand me the bag.”

“Are you going to summon something?  Oh, can I do it again?” Mildred asks eagerly, already flinging it off her shoulders.

“Fine.  Quickly now, before Pippa catches her death out here.”  Even as she says it, she hugs herself against the breeze of the woods.  The lava had been stiflingly hot, but their distance has reminded her that fall is settling in the trees, and as the sun struggles to break through, so does the warmth.  “I have a spare dress in there.  Speak clearly and call it forth.”

“The black one?” Mildred asks, a crumple of concentration on her forehead.

“Yes, that one.”  Hecate refrains from adding that all her dresses are some variation on black. 

It takes a minute, but eventually Mildred is holding her dress up highly in the air, a look of pride replacing the concentration.  “I did it!”

“Very good,” Hecate praises shortly.  “Next time, do it faster.”  Letting success go to the girl’s head will do her no favors, but Mildred doesn’t seem to mind for long.  She’s already flinging the bag back onto her shoulders and watching Hecate expectantly for whatever “big” magic she might do next.

Reluctantly, Hecate takes the dress and steps closer to Pippa, holding it out in front of her to assess the size.  Pippa is bigger than Hecate’s own skeletal, relatively flat frame.  She curves differently, in ways beyond the rigid dress’s ability to stretch, so Hecate does her best to eye the necessary changes without getting too far into Pippa’s space.  She holds it against her front, running her hands over the fabric of the dress to flatten it against Pippa for better accuracy, ignoring the quiet gasp Pippa emits when she runs her hand along the top.  She can feel the woman’s brown eyes boring into her, watching curiously to see what she might do, though the fear she might have expected in the wake of possible magic isn’t in them. 

Hecate swallows and steps away.  “It’s easier to work with something that already exists.”  Closing her eyes, she tries to concentrate on Pippa’s dress size and feels her magic weave into the fabric, contorting and replicating it until she feels satisfied by the changes.

“May I?” Hecate asks, and Pippa nods.

This time, free from the bounds of the castle, her transference spell comes easily.  The dress leaves her hands and covers Pippa seamlessly, allowing Hecate to assess her work. 

“How is it?” she asks, ready to adjust any parts she may have missed.  It’s been a very long time since she’s needed to do alterations on anyone but herself.

“Well, the fit’s all right, but…”

Hecate quirks a brow in warning, but it does little to stop Pippa from ploughing on ahead unbothered.

“I do wish it wasn’t so drab.  Don’t you ever wear any color?”

Hecate thinks of many colorful things she might say in response to this, after she’s just taken one of her own dresses and very impressively fitted it to Pippa after she ripped and tossed her own perfectly fine dress in the mud, but then Pippa looks up at her and bats those princess eyelashes and, _oh no_ , the words leave her faster than her breath.

“She prefers to look edgy,” Mildred supplies, breaking Hecate’s trance and forcing her to whip her head around in shock.

“I beg your pardon?”

Mildred, equally as unfazed by her attempts at intimidation as Pippa, just huffs and crosses her arms over her chest like she’s talking to a child.  “It’s fine, you can pull it off, but Pippa’s too... cheery.  Just look at her, HB, she’s like a kitten.  Can’t you make it a little bit brighter?” 

Hecate ponders the request, trying desperately to overlook the nickname.  She could, in theory, absolutely ruin one of her best dresses by turning it into something a little more Pippa.  She’s fairly certain she has a fondness for pink, if her earlier interest in the flowers indicated anything, and Mildred has a point—there’s something wrong with the image of Pippa standing in front of her draped in a plain black dress. 

She won’t do it happily, but Hecate decides she will do it.  A few frivolous seconds of magic seem worth avoiding days of complaining from her travel companions, and though she’s loathe to admit it, she thinks Pippa will look quite lovely in what she has in mind.

Mumbling just loud enough for them both to hear, lamenting the waste of perfectly good magic on something as ridiculous as a dress, Hecate envisions the pink ensemble in her mind’s eye and wills it into being.  Pippa practically squeals as the dress once more shifts around her into something with a slightly more flattering cut, and yes, a bright pink hue.

“Oh, darling, it’s wonderful!  Thank you!” 

Pippa really does look breathtaking, and Hecate stumbles around an answer for a long moment while Mildred chatters on with her own compliments.  There’s a certain rosy quality to her cheeks brought out so brilliantly by it, and though the dress looks entirely different, Hecate doesn’t think it ever looked so good when she wore it.

Perhaps not such a wasteful use of magic after all, she thinks.

Especially when it makes Pippa smile so vibrantly.

But then she remembers why they’re here, and where they’re headed, and that it doesn’t matter if she makes Pippa smile, or if Pippa comes to love her magic the way she desperately wishes someone would, because it’s all meant to end.

“Yes, well, perhaps when you marry Lord Hellibore, you’ll keep in mind that magic can be so helpful.”

The spell is broken, and Pippa runs her hands in one final stroke down the dress before they trudge on.

“There’s just one problem,” she adds after a moment of tense silence.

“And that would be?”

“This awful red hair will never look right with pink.  Maybe we can change that next?  I have always wanted to be blonde.”

 

 

They make camp early that evening—Hecate exhausted and Pippa insisting she must be in bed before sundown because she’s “positively petrified” of the dark.  Hecate doesn’t find the energy to argue, and so they stop at a nice clear field where she instructs Mildred to carefully set a fire.

It takes only a few moments for Hecate to summon the tent from their bag and wave a hand to put it together.  The sections slide into place, and while it’s not ideal, it’s better than nothing.  She misses the quiet comfort of her swamp.

Luckily, a fire is one thing Mildred cannot screw up it seems, and they soon have one set perfectly to warm their supper.  It’s far from silent between them, but truthfully, Mildred fills most of the conversation with her stories and questions.  Pippa tries her hand at chatting, but she’s almost too eager to speak after so long, and Hecate doesn’t feel much like engaging back.  She’s sure it’s noticeable, and probably comes across as rude, but she can’t help it.  Hecate’s thoughts keep drifting to before, to Pippa and her dress—and her lack of a dress—and she wants to toss her memories into the open flames just to stop them from harassing her.

In a few days, everything can return to normal.  Everything _should_ return to normal, and she _should_ be completely thrilled about that.  She should be looking forward to her quiet swamp and peaceful solitude, where people only come into her life while they’re out fulfilling their threatening quotas for the month, and then they leave.

She’s never wanted people to stay, and she’s certainly not about to change that now.

“Well, it seems the sun’s setting.  Goodnight, I’ll see you both in the morning!”  Pippa chirps shortly, and in a blur of pink, she and her newly blonde ponytail rush inside the tent and tug the flap closed.

It’s unmistakably a dismissal, and though Hecate had set the tent up for all three of them to share, she doesn’t find it in her to argue if Pippa wants some privacy.  Mildred, always so easily able to roll with the punches, has already stretched herself out in the grass with a happy sigh.  Hecate stiffly follows, and while the ground is hard against her sore shoulder and boney spine, she thinks if she pretends to relax long enough she might trick herself into doing so.

“I suppose we’re just to keep guard out here,” Hecate quips in a whisper probably not quiet enough to be missed by Pippa inside the tent. 

She may respect Pippa’s need for privacy, but she doesn’t have to like that it leaves her out on the ground.

She does try to think of it as simply a need for privacy, but the bitter part of Hecate’s mind wonders if it’s more than that.  Perhaps her magical display is finally setting in, the awe of it all wearing off, and Pippa’s too afraid to sleep near the witch and her apprentice.  Or worse, she’d felt Hecate’s attraction to her earlier, and now when presented the possibility of having to share a tent with her, she doesn’t trust Hecate to keep her feelings in check.

Not that she _has_ any feelings.  She certainly doesn’t.

But Pippa might think otherwise.

It was one thing when she thought Hecate the knight wanted to marry her, but a witch was probably too much to risk. 

They stay there in companionable silence for a while, both tired from the day but too restless to sleep before the sun’s gone fully down.  The fire crackles by their feet, slowly beginning to sputter out as it ravages the remainder of the wood.  Hecate mindlessly adds a few logs to it, hoping the smoke from the continued flame may keep the insects away and ward off the evening fall chill.

“Miss Hardbroom?”

“Yes?”  The ground hasn’t gotten more comfortable over time.  Frustrated at that, and having been drawn from her thoughts by Mildred, Hecate sets about pulling a few blankets forth from the bag, making sure at least Mildred will have enough to stay warm.  Dusk has come and swept over them, leaving nothing more than a faint echo of light and the soft glow of their fire. 

“I need to… uhm…”  Mildred fiddles in the firelight, sitting up and tugging her braids.

Hecate waves a hand and watches the bigger of her blankets settle itself in the grass, just out of reach of the fire’s sparks, then drops two more on top. 

“What is it, Mildred?” she asks, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in her bones.  She doesn’t want to think she’s too old for this, but honestly, there’s far too much cracking when she moves.  “I cannot read minds, despite what you might think of my abilities.”

Mildred’s voice drops to an even lower whisper, and she has to strain to hear it. 

“I need to use the, uhm, the latrine.”

Hecate rolls her eyes and gestures to the woods around them.  “There’s no plumbing here, but there’s plenty of trees just as there have been all day.  Take your pick.”

“No, that’s not the problem.”

“Then what _is_ the problem?”

“It’s dark.”

Mildred sounds small when she says it, and for all the fearless things this girl has done in the past two days alone, it seems silly for something as calm as the night to scare her.  She considers pressing her further, but thinks better of it.

Considering all the fearful things Mildred’s done in the past two days, if something as seemingly silly as the night scares her, she’s not sure she’s ready to know why.

“Can you come with me?”

Hecate thinks she would rather not do that either.

“Come, sit.  Time to learn a spell.”

Hecate magicks herself into her purple silk pajamas and takes a cross-legged seat on the blanket, patting the space opposite her for Mildred to join.  “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t take long.”

Mildred sits obediently, looking up in the firelight with hesitant curiosity.

“I’ll teach you how to make a little light in your palm.  That way, you can always find your way in the dark when you need to.  Now, hands out, palms up.”  Mildred follows her movements.

“Now close your eyes.”

“They’re closed.  Now what?  Is that it?”

Hecate scoffs.  “Of course that’s not it, be patient.  Are they closed?” 

“Yes, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Good, now I want you to think about the night sky.  Visualize the stars and find the brightest one in your mind’s eye.”

“My what?”

“Your mind’s eye.  You see the sky I’m talking about when you close your eyes, yes?”

“I think so.”

“Then pick out whichever star looks brightest and focus in on it.  Have you done that?”

Mildred is silent for a moment, then nods.  “I found it.”

“Now I want you to concentrate on that star, and when you feel like you can almost reach out and touch it, repeat after me three times three times.  _Burning star held by the night, lend the guidance of your light._ ”

She watches with apt attention as Mildred carefully recites each repetition of the spell, and as a small flicker of light begins to build in her palms, Hecate feels her heart swell with pride.  But it simmers out and fades just as she finishes.

“It didn’t work,” Mildred says, defeated.  “I’ll never be a witch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you had a light for a moment.  You didn’t focus enough, you stole a look at your hands before you finished saying it three times three times,” Hecate replies sternly.  “Now, close your eyes, hold tightly onto your focus, and do it again.  With enough practice, you’ll be able to do this all in your head.”

Mildred nods with the utmost seriousness and starts over.

This time, the light starts slowly, and it builds to something stronger.  It’s far from perfect, but a ball of light not unlike a star forms floating several inches above her palms, and the light emanates from it the longer Mildred’s focus lasts.  When she opens her eyes at the end of the final repetition, it remains.

“I did it,” Mildred whispers, voice swimming in wonder.  “I really made that happen?”

“You did,” Hecate says. 

“Huh.”  Mildred stares at it for another moment, and then carefully stands, keeping the light cupped in her palms.  “I think I’ll be all right now.  Thank you.  For teaching me, I mean.”

“You are my apprentice after all,” Hecate says with a dip of her head, and finds she means it a little more than she truly had before.

Mildred nods, like she’s trying to process that, and scurries off into the trees with her precious handheld star.

Hecate hums lightly to herself, and by the time Mildred returns, she’s settled the thicker of the two blankets over to her apprentice’s side of their makeshift bed and used a cushioning charm on the blanket beneath them. 

They stay like that, listening to nature’s soundtrack and Pippa’s light snoring through the walls of the tent.  At least someone can sleep, Hecate thinks, rolling against the hard ground and noting that Mildred’s eyes are open wide, watching the sky like she’s never before seen it properly.

Hecate has to admit, the night is very clear.

“Do you know the constellations, Mildred?”

“No.  Can you teach me?”

Hecate thinks on this for a moment.  She’s never considered herself much of a teacher—it’s one of the reasons she’s continually turned down Ada Cackle’s offer of a teaching position.  But having just taught Mildred how to successfully make a little light, she’s feeling a surge of confidence at the thought.

“Very well.  Let’s start simply.  Do you see that big shape over there that resembles a ladle?  It’s a rather large box with a curved handle?”

“I think so.”

“That’s the Big Dipper, a rather well known part of the Ursa Major constellation,” Hecate begins.  “When you add the rest, it resembles a bear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon, hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading-- more to come soon!


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